Tuesday Poem

Metro, Line 3

Her two dogs cowered

when she stopped

to curse me

in a unfamiliar language

but for the one word she repeated

mongolo mongolo.

I said I didn’t understand

refused to look away.

Maybe I had stared

puzzled by what was in the baby sling

she wore – a silent baby or other small

animal, her own belly?

She might have been my age or

younger, maybe I caught her gaze

and held it while I thought of that?

‘Mongolo, mongolo’

she said, stabbing the word home

poking my cheek

with one grubby finger

her dogs cringing.

Her trousers were torn,

her feet ingrained with the city

through which she led the dogs

on frayed rope – lack can make anyone

crazy with sullen, impotent rage

and I’d have felt sorry

but for the sweet-faced dog

who whimpered, hunched back on its tail

as she pulled up in front of me –

I matched her stare, indifferent.

Lady, I’m no poor toothless bitch you can drag

into your loco world.

The Metro doors closed between us

she cursed, I stared –

unrepentant.

Catherine Bateson, September, 2013

This may be my last Tuesday Poem posting for a while - I'm leaving Paris - so sad! - but moving on to London and from there, driving up to Scotland, back to London and on to Italy. I'm not sure where we have wifi. I'm sure there will be opportunities to blog along the way - but maybe not so many opportunities to write poetry! So, bear with me, please.

Check out the Tuesday Poem hub where there is a strong political poem by Gregory Philp, published by guest editor, Rethabile. And from here you can travel to other worlds. Travel safely!