SATAN

so I'm walking down to the station
on a nice bright morning and
god's in his heaven and
all's well with the world and
then this bloke appears from a side turning,
riding his bike on the pavement
on the other side of the street:
a man of thirty-five or forty,
his front wheel wobbles as one hand
comes off the handlebar and slides
into his pocket
for a cigarette.
he spits a piece of chewing gum
onto the paving slabs outside the nursery school and
weaves his tyre tracks 
into the little lawn
at the front of those new apartments.
cigarette lit,
he zips downhill,
then diagonally across the road
just ahead of the junction and
straight through the red lights,
mounting the pavement
on the other side.
and I think
SATAN.

and on the train
this tool
in an M&S suit
and a Thomas Pink shirt
gets on halfway through my journey,
sits next to me and steadily widens
the gap between his thighs.
he is trying to push his way from his seat onto mine and wipe ME
against the wipe-CLEAN plastic-coated
carriage wall,
and his elbow
is working into the tender space
above my hip. jabbing, jabbing.
and he's tutting 
as I push back a bit
and I'm going to say
"are you trying to sit on my lap, you cunt?
are you fucking winding me up?"
but I don't.