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Tubular Quells


...or Tunnel Vision, Concentrate !

[A picture from PwP Inspiration Corner]


Tubular quells the extrovert -

an old field for the well aware -

and once confined, more pliable -

the packed, but not the package, here.

Here’s how it’s done: ‘fit man in tube’ -

the ‘fit’ is verb, not adjective -

no need for lube, just push and pull,

for gritty stuff brings smooth from rough -

an oyster, with a pearl of price.


Despatch him, slim-fit, down the line,

compact his stretch, no wriggle room,

his span contained in longitude

and keep him calm, stare fixed ahead.

Await arrival - mind that step -

stamp not his carriage ‘fragile’, red,

for that invites a final fling -

the last thing for the travel sick,

or there we are with Kwells again.


A plain brown wrapper - I misheard

for Rasta with his sharp clipped verse -

meant mail of doubtful parentage,

(know what I mean, discreet in lieu?)

a top shelf, though too, top drawer choice -

leave bottom drawer for wedding bits.

Me, old days, parcel tied with string,

containing knobbles, wobbles, spill,

for shoving through a letter box.


But here prepacked, cylindrical,

like blooms sent, overnight bouquet -

while escalating queues stand still

though carried forward, standing right,

both up and subterranean -

my pre-trapped lad arrives on cue,

on door mat waiting my pick up,

a straight laced boy (just see his face)

because of his straightjacket tube.

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