He entered the railway carriage – The Newcomer.
Placing his attache case on the rack.
Seating himself delicately
His fingers nipping his trousers to preserve the crease.
And they regarded him The Travellers
Bored by the long haul from A to B.
A morals charge, mused the policeman.
But that was reminiscing.
It’s allowed nowadays
And Poofter bashing is hardly condoned
Even in the Force.
How about computer crime?
Hmm – Too clever by half
For his own good.
Obsessive/Compulsive. Meticulous to the extreme
Summarised the Psychiatrist
As he observed the stranger arranging his newspaper
Carefully creasing the pages Edge to Edge
Completely square
Swiftly dividing the Wednesday Age
Into manageable proportions.
It’s Samsonite, thought the Yuppie – perhaps even a Dunhill.
And that watch is white gold – Analogue not Digital
And the aftershave is not Old Spice or Brut
Its arrogance suggests Paris at fifty bucks a throw
Or even a Hundred!
And his eyes misted,
Dreaming of the Bigtime.
Care for a game of cards?
Rehearsed the gambler in his mind.
We could make up a Poker school.
And his gaze slid across the faces of the fellow travellers
The newcomer – The professional man – The likely lad
And came to rest on the Copper.
Perhaps not.