Rob Wallis Poetry

Capturing A Tram's Value

Finally the man
stopped shouting at someone
on his mobile phone.
I wanted to ask everyone
on the crowded tram
to applaud, but realised
nobody could bring
their hands together.

I was tempted to join in
the pungent flow
of the man's tirade. Wanted to suggest
we the captive audience
didn't need to know
that somebody's bottom line
needed tweaking, that this
was a game-changer,
a tough sell that involved
value capture. And if they both
were on the same page
why the argument
over getting rid of the office's
metamorphic furniture?
At the end of the day or otherwise.

And I needed clarification
about the facts of the matter.
If the furniture issue
was a no-brainer, how come
they were still arguing over it?
Was it the business deal
that was doable
or the boss's over-sexed wife?
And was the Director
involved in the car crash,
who sustained injuries
incompatible with living,
actually dead?

As I squeezed off the tram
I felt I'd been bruised
by the wings of madness.

Astronauts
I doubt if I will find another one
like him     time and constant wear
allow me to ease into the comfort
of his slippered self     forgiveness smiles
from Tartar eyes     yet he is harried
by afflictions     and age has left his
skull bald     there's a pattern not unlike
the blemish on the moon     we two
have flown there     took our own
giant step for mankind     the view
from the other side soothed us
yet we were happier when the world
welcomed us home     if I'm kept awake
at night it's because he is singing
in his sleep     a mystic language
impossible to decipher     it leaves me time
to think about the choice I made
to love this man     I too will sing
until obscured by the next lunar eclipse