Bumbling Cross Stitch No. 2

Some statements are so true you just want to stitch them on things.

Bumbling Poetry No.14

I got the train the other day and a weird thing happened or maybe it didn't but probably it did 

(Content note for swearing)

Camera Sound

Him, registered through my own adjustments

The pulling in of feet, the space we make

For strangers, still he sat diagonal.

Startled (his phone had made the camera sound),

Peering over my book to see his hold

Not quite right, the angle felt invasive.

Eyes on page but attention peripheral,

I watch him watch me, then type, watch me,

Then type. Creeps don't know about the edges

Of sight as they've never tried to use them.

Is he fucking tweeting about me?

Or just sending my picture to his friends?

I wonder what it was, my nose ring or

The colour of my hair, or just being

Female in public, that drew his attention.

I look down at his shoes for clues, bad

Shiny loafers and merlot trousers,

And decide all of the above. It's not til

I'm watching the back of his greasy head

Bob down the platform, I realise- phones:

They make that camera sound when you screenshot

As well as take pictures. And I find myself

Wondering, not for the first time,

If my bunch of neuroses have grown roots,

That entwining, flourished and bore some Greek-

Sounding fruit to the air. But then, I reason,

If anyone were to judge and mock me

Though invisible waves, because of my

Appearance, it would be some tosser

In bad loafers and merlot trousers.