Alert! Old Ladies

I get ideas in the morning. I wake with them. They line up like alert old  ladies at a  bus qeue and wait for me to arrive. So I wake with  the wheels  turning   but by mid morning  they're still waiting  and with no A to Z  my bus is whizzing along a dual carraigeway called E mail Street  turning right onto commision road. I spent a long time on Things To Do Avenue which reminded me to make repeated calls on  Cell Phone Street and a drive down the way called  Answer Machine Avenue. In no time I'm lost. I  spend  hours hurtling up and down these streets at my office  ( a real place)  and before you know it, it’s mid afternoon and I’m racing to the train station to go to Huddersfield ( a real place to).

By now the old alert ladies have trotted back to their apartments to stand behind net curtains.  That’s what they do.  they give me the lines as  a bus ticket and we drive to a town called   Poem while  they sit in their seats and talk very very loudly. “Her eyes are the widows to her soul”.  That’s one I woke up with once. But the old lady  is still  her behind the window saying “Do something with that" . I am angry with them for not waiting at the bus stop.  They’re angry with me for not picking them up. The difference between a writer and someon who has great ideas is that a writer, writes. Huddersfield here I come.

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