Poetry in Motion
“What are you reading?” Call Centre Tony entered his canteen confessional. I had found a greased-stained copy of yesterday’s free newspaper.
“I’m reading an interview with some chap who used to be a poet but he’s written a story about a bloke who feeds up a woman in a hotel for sexual kicks.” I said.
“I might have known that you, Timothy fuckin’ Lumsden, would be reading about bleedin’ poetry.” He snatched the paper. “He looks a right dick. He looks like he’d have a stuffed bird kept in a Trust House Forte.”
“It’s a story. It sounds interesting.” I said.
Tony started to read the article in his best John Major voice. “”Poetry can intimidate people and can wrongly perceived as a bit highbrow””
He looked mock scared. Then said, out of the side of his mouth, “Poetry isn’t intimating. Twenty of United’s finest in the Stretford End – THAT’s fuckin’ intimidating.”
I didn’t bother asking Tony if he wanted to join Nigel’s lunch-time reading group.