He didn’t break stride

He didn’t break stride

But something changed

Whether it was the wind

From the North

Chilling the skin not exposed

To the watery sunlight

Leaking through an ocean of sky

The ache in his hip

Normally just an annoyance

Became a generalised complaint

Every joint groaned in sympathy

Muscles seemed to scream

Burned to the bone

It may have been a thought

A memory

A smell perhaps

But his mood changed

As if a switch had been flicked

A touch of happiness gone

In a moment

How can it happen so easily

When everything else

Remains the same

Brains disengage

Whilst the body

Goes about its business

What happened

To synchro-mesh when it was needed

A bit like old cars

He remembers having to

Double de-clutch

It wasn’t easy changing down

Especially at speed

Bus drivers often missed a gear

Standing passengers

Were left reeling

Going uphill could be a problem

Tall men grazed the ceiling

Hats exchanged

With barely a glance

Jumping off the platform

Before it stopped

Could be dangerous

Especially in snow

Where did his mind go

When did double-deckers

Become synonymous with London

They were everywhere

Passing each other

On British roads barely wide

Enough for one

Where has the Morris Minor gone

Ford Prefect was a car

Before he was a hitchhiker.

Sometimes he speaks out loud

Broken pieces of conversation

The answer to questions unasked

Thoughts feel more real

When voiced

He does try to be sociable

Friendly to all

It might seem counter-intuitive

But it works as

A defence mechanism

To prevent people getting too close

Self-absorption can be

A safety device

To maintain separation

Unless he so so full of it

He bursts his own bubble

Thank goodness for consciousness

And re-collective responsibility

Without them,

What else would all of

This time he spends in thought

Be good for.