29. subterranean funfairs / plastified droppings from the helicoptered candidates

Thou anew with thine fair ticket aloft (for the return trip)










Tidying everything before I’m gone

Something to remember me by (I thought)

And now it seems they remember me by

The endearing sobriquet of “the tidy guy.”



Picked up all the papers

Piled them up in tidy mounts

Picked up even all the discarded underwear

From the secretary girls dirty after their parties

And saintly debaucheries.



Now I was loaded with my goodbye packages

The street a bit slippery

The metro station the wrong one

The corridors dark

Some of my little suitcases misplaced

The funfair underground labyrinthine

Its shops darkening and almost deserted

And the criers not even bothering with the shadow of me.



Luckily I met a friend of old

Who hadn’t given up

He was back at work hard as nails

And he put everything to rights

With a sad face though

Because I was surrendering to pressure again

Bailing out retiring to pastures green

Alone and naked and empty-pocketed and so on.



Little consolation he gave me a few mementoes

For my collection of trifles and worthless trinkets

From the city back at home in the sticks.



Took from his pocket a few electioneering badges

And match boxes (three or four)

That he’d found on the floor

As he was walking today and he’d thought

About me

For which I was very

Very touched.



We said goodbye there at the dark platform

I see still his hand waving goodbye

And gesturing showing which way the right way

To get to the good station that would carry me

To the station

Where the train would carry me home.



Such perfection of organization the world

I was so touched

My fingers still smelled of the girls’ crotches

The train was lulling me to sleep

I had a slight erection

Peaceful pastoral home beckoned

And my trinkets joyfully tinkled

What a perfect world indeed.