DREAMING OF NASTY TOILETS & FALLING FAECES...

Dreaming Of Toilets, Old Miserable People & Dogs…

I was at work, without doubt

But wearing a suit?

A meeting maybe?

Certainly no teaching,

For I sought a route

To the facilities, reaching 

A public convenience, in some kind of institute.

I entered a cubicle and squatted,

Still wearing my suit…

A mistake maybe?

Definitely not reflective

Of a cubicle of repute:

For it was defective,

An inconvenience indeed and squalid to boot…

Faeces hung and dripped

Down the locked door

And uncontrollably slipped

From ceiling to floor;

Shit fell onto my back,

It nudged against my hair:

My exit was thus not slack

From the stink to gasp air.

The jacket shrugged off,

My shirt now felt damp,

Before a vomiting cough

Forced my belly to cramp;

Three youngish women I then located,

Pushing an older accompanying hag

Into the cubicle I’d just vacated,

Clinging to her crumpled carrier bag.

The stools were like cobwebs I believe,

I saw as I bent double moaning;

A hasty escape was needed, the nausea to relieve, 

So I made for the door, still groaning…

I stepped off a bus in Hurst Lane, 

Shrinking inside my suit:

An abomination maybe?

Certainly not acceptable

As I walked a route,

With the aroma intolerable.

Then I noticed some kind of dispute…

I walked in considerable haste,

Pausing, resenting my suit:

A throw-out now, maybe?

Definitely I felt irate, 

Then a wrinkly, a brute

Kicked a box, or a crate

In anger, with a surgical boot…

“Stop it, you old git…” I bellowed:

She glared right back at my face;

Two yobbish women soon followed

And their wild dogs also took chase.

I swung round at them: a folly,

I yelled, growled and kicked out;

I struck out at them with my brolly,

Rendering each one a clout

I tried desperately to explain

That the crate might have struck

A child to cause injury and pain,

Or damage a car, with a little bad luck…

I told them I lived along the way,

I wasn’t a stranger here,

In Nearmoor Road, not far away

And they relented, their acceptance clear…

I awoke then but I could still smell the faeces,

I could feel the clinging slime pieces

And the bloodthirsty lust to get at the mutts

And deliver decisive blows to their butts…

Pete Ray

October 2016

I did dream all this. Not a pleasant one.

Hurst Lane is in Castle Bromwich. There was a car park along the road, which led down to my mum and dad’s house in Nearmoor Road, Shard End.

Woke up shit scared…