A Supreme Being commutes to work
The thing
you should know before you embark
upon reading
my tale, is a truth that is stark.
I’m honestly
sorry for all of you folk,
you merest
of mortals, who carry the yoke
of ordinariness,
but I solely
address
my comments
and musings to others like me,
whose
importance is close to Lord God Almighty.
When I ride on the bus I favour a seat
that is close to the window – the spot that is sweet.
But what’s certainly not in my anticipation
is the slightest delay in alighting at station
and I’d rather the chap in the aisle to be standing
and swaying for hours if it speeds up my landing
(a wait by closed doors is a small price to pay
if it saves me a second on my celestial way).
When down in
the underground, braving the rabble
I’m never
deterred by the threat of a scrabble
because
pushchairs and suitcases simply dissolve
when I
thrust them aside with my mighty resolve.
Once on the
platform, and the tube doors spring wide
I simply don’t
see why I should stand aside
when a deity’s need to be boarding trumps all!
(if you slip down the gap, the rats soften your fall).
It’s time for the lift, and we’re all crammed inside
(to force myself in is a matter of pride
twasn’t my elbow that made you jackknife!)
and my virtuous bowels are stirring to life
but my sanctified gust is incense for the masses
and their sad little sins purified by my gasses.
When the lift has ascended, I surge for the gate
(whole worlds would expire should I become late)
but it’s so damn
unsporting to reach for my ticket
in advance
of the tube’s gaping, clamping last wicket
and the
mortals behind me are pleased by the show
while I
empty my pockets and cork up the flow.
Now I burst
from the station, and pound up the street
the nation must
dance to the pulse of my feet
so they dodge
and they skip so my pathway is clear
