whilst travelling on the bus to town
beside me, a fragrant man sat down
from his pocket he produced
a hard boiled oeuf
thats egg in french, thats right an egg, he pulled it from his pocket.
he tapped it lightly upon the seat in front so as to crack it.
then slowly and without compunction,
he deshelled it for his audienced consumption.
thats a true story that is. the man had turnups in his jeans and a black hat and a moustache. what is worrying is this man did not care who saw him eat his egg. he crossed his legs high and slowly picked the shell from an egg on a packed bus. tapping it on the person in fronts seat. its a different thing to eat a sandwich on the bus or an apple, or even a chicken leg or sup from a thermos flask. but to boil an egg in the house, put it in a carrier bag and produce it is a worrying thing for me. i followed this man, but quickly lost him. i thought i would follow him because a man who knows no bus boundaries is bound to get up to more interesting things than i have planned in my day. but as i say , he gave me the slip. who knows how many men the eggman murdered that day. his conscience unperturbed by the boundaries of a normal human.