SUITABLE CASE

For want of a cuppa
      I wouldn'a had bus change
      from a £5 promissory portrait
of the monarch, right
      for its dates
      in the limited edition of
ink on cotton rag fibre and
      "colours which are
      difficult to balance
on photocopiers" (Peter Symes);
      or need to pee
      at Birmingham New Street
urgently; disembark,
      cheapskate
      with two cases
on the X48 from Newman
      University interview.
      No taxi for me
and time? No, O Maxx
      next to old
      entrance
but to scout kerb
      encumberance, where fellow
      bussies had pointed.
(They'd liked me in suit,
      justice scale
      of bagged books, siphoning
the courier carriage cost
      to buy tickets
      from home to Llandrindod,
booked 6 in advance
      of this call to B'rum
      one week ago.)
I and the cases
      met accessibility
      politics, from North
to Midlands to West
      until the station
      under refurbishment
and its (indicated
      only by human index
      finger) entrance.
Threading white concourse
      I reversed
      at the barrier,
gave card to machine
      and its printout
      to a human,
through
      to where loos
      are,
where sign is "not for construction
      workers
      for nothing".
Nothing's what I'd pay
      unless
      double or quits.
Why exchange coinage?
      Why not
      urinate there
and then on recladded
      Victorian public
      work unupkept?
"Clean this, and my tarnish,
      I'm your boss,"
      I seem to solo
in my time among
      turnstiles
      to push prow
on wheels. I wait
      for the cleaner.
      I hear her
I imagine reword
      the injunction
      to constructing
man spitting,
      orange jacket
      on back
inside closing cubicle
      "YOW NEED THE TOI-
      LET, WHEN YOW
'RE BUILDING THIS STA-
      SHUN!" He angles
      his trochees.
Monosyllable nouns
      toy he will
      stay where
he's exiled
      till vacant.
      Wise to injunctions
and care
      she's supposed
      to police
here. Befuddled
      all made circus,
      I leave. And
return. "Can
      I come
      on the
same 30 pence?" "Yes."
      Seen by loo,
      last of my interview suit.

Ira Lightman is a poet, author of 3 books and several chapbooks. In his double
column poems (Trancelated atwww.ubu.com/ubu) he employs quoted text and
translations in collages. He makes public art, organizing a community’s poems
into visual art. He broadcasts on BBC Radio 3’s The Verb. He has set Creeley,
Gunn and Sward &c to ukulele.