The Next Stop
Seven, and Lost With Gypsies
‘Next stop,’ my father said, and stood. ‘Wait for us below.’ I closed my Book as he moved off between seats To fetch my brothers, who counted London cabs from the front window Of the double-decker. I joined The quiet queue and, hand on rail, Pulled off my best version of a Gentleman older than seven.
A gentle jingle among the crowd Grew to be a faerie symphony Of tiny chimes adorning the Bright attire of some bronze-skinned folk Waiting to alight. A circus Surely must be near, I said and, Jumping to the cobbles with them, Spared no care for any others Until the big red bus drove on.
I had never in my life been Lost, nor had ever been alone But here I was all by myself. Of the dangers that came to mind I feared most to be stolen by Gypsies and never again chase My brothers, hug my mother nor Talk with my father. Heartbreak Flooded my existence with tears.
‘What is it?’ asked a dulcet voice, Through the gossamer tinkling that Suddenly surrounded me, a Colourful cordon of concern. ‘Are you lost?’ Mute from my sorrow All I could do was nod my head. ‘Where were you going?’ she sang to me. ‘Earl’s Court,’ I choked between my sobs. ‘With your permission, we’ll take you.’
She banished my tears with her sleeve, Took my hand and together, led Our sprightly crew towards my home. ‘Where is your circus?’ I begged her. ‘Wherever we are,’ she replied, ‘And we are at Earl’s Court today.’ I knew this place and, no longer Lost, knew also what she meant. From nowhere a circus had appeared.
The world of brick red and pale stone Bloomed into riots of colour Tumbling and whirling among the Crowd caught with their propriety Unbalanced and civility askew But secretly happy for it. When flaming brands arced overhead, Behind me and before, I knew I was a part of the circus.
‘We must depart now,’ she told me. ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘But I wish to Come. I want to be in the circus.’ ‘You wish to live upon the road No dawn or dusk ever the same? The gypsy life follows no path Other than the shifting seasons, Free of place and time together.’ ‘I wish to have that life,’ I said.
‘You’ll be welcome then, among us, Should you meet the Gypsy measure, But only if and then avow To obey the breeze and seek the End of every road before you.’ ‘Yes! Yes!’ I cried, ‘What is your test For me to prove I’m one of you?’ ‘A gauge of loyalty,’ she said, You may say goodbye to no one.’
The door was locked, but not for long ‘Where have you been?’ my mother cried. ‘We feared you lost with Gypsies.’ ‘I was,’ I said, ‘They let me join Their circus and I yearned for their Liberty from place and time, but then I failed their test of loyalty.’ ‘What test was that?’ my mother asked. ‘I should have left without goodbye.’
William J Spirdione’s poetry is worth a look …
Thanks for reading …
