Bloody Men

Bloody men are like bloody buses—
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.

You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You're trying to read the destination,
You haven't much time to decide.

If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.
Jump off, and you'll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days.

Wendy Cope

Ars Celare Artem. Part of the spice of good vernacular poetry is the fact that it doesn't sound like poetry. It's one of the reasons why we love Larkin. This stuff is nearly as good as Larkin—tho' i doubt she would thank me for saying so. (The scansion is less than perfect, particularly line 7, and to a lesser extent thereafter, tho' the first verse is perfect). In vernacular poetry you can use devices that are otherwise unavailable, such as the clever double entendres in flashing and ride...

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