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The Tale of Wanton Ange
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The Number 53: Unholy Thoughts
Wanton Ange makes her appearance
That’s Ange there on the 53 at Plumstead;
She’s thinking once again about the vicar.
“’E’s even older than yer dad!” Siobhan said;
That didn’t stop her heart from beating quicker.
She’s wondering if to have a go and text him:
She’ll say she thinks about him every night.
Why, yesterday she fancied she undressed him
And did him on the floor in candlelight!
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The Number 130: Texting Again
Ange sinking deeper into sin
And there she is, it’s Ange our little wanton;
She’s texting someone now at Vulcan Way.
She’s unaware her soul’s a little rotten,
And that for this she’s going to have to pay.
She’s thinking how this morning she’ll entice him:
It’s Mr Rudd—a teacher from her school!
She’s wearing Ariana to excite him,
For chemistry she’s always known was cool!
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The Number 174: Swinging at Gallows Corner
Ange: the final chapter
’Twas at the stop at fearsome Gallows Corner,
The tale is told by local people there,
That wanton Ange was sent a sign to warn her
Which did indeed produce a nasty scare.
While sitting on her own as usual texting
She happened to observe some nearby trees.
And there she saw what most would find most testing:
A bloated body swinging in the breeze!
Now, wanton Ange was not one easily frightened
And took the apparition in her stride.
But then her hands around her cellphone tightened
When next its eyes the body opened wide.
It seemed to plead and groan in her direction
As though for kindness from a kindred soul.
But then she spied a worrying projection
And realised the nature of its goal!
Then from the tree the thing began descending
And, arms outstretched, came lumbering on towards her.
And on it came, the groaning never ending,
Colliding into cars at Gallows Corner.
By now our Ange was feeling apprehensive.
The pleasures of the flesh she much enjoyed;
Indeed, of these her knowledge was extensive
For with the hearts of men she’d often toyed.
But corpses were a different proposition
Which Ange considered really not her taste.
And this she took to be an admonition
To swap her life of sin for something chaste.
Yet still the hideous thing advanced towards her,
Its groans imploring piteously for sex,
While Ange’s mind was plunged in such disorder
As surely this an Einstein would perplex!
In desperation, Ange appealed for guidance
And like a little child again she prayed.
She found again that long-neglected silence
While recognising how from good she’d strayed.
Just then the waiting bus resumed its journey,
And Ange, in gratitude, began to weep.
And from that time she lived a life more worthy:
At last she’d learnt that what you sow you reap.
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Poet’s Note: Gallows Corner is a major road junction in Romford in Greater London. It was the site of gallows in the C16th and C17th. In the grounds of what is now a local school stood a jail where the condemned were held before execution. The bodies were buried nearby.
Gallows Corner has an above-average number of collisions (source: Wikipedia).
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Paul Martin Freeman is an art dealer in London. His recent book, A Chocolate Box Menagerie, is published by New English Review Press on whose website the current poem first appeared. “The Tale of Wanton Ange” is from The Bus Poems: A Tale of the Devil, currently in preparation.
The inspired name of “Wanton” is sufficient to grab my attention. Reading about these next bus trips makes me wonder if I would ride the bus or not on such routes. If I ever return to the UK, I will certainly pay more attention to what is going on around me. These were fun to read and further solidify your reputation as a poet with unusual thoughts that are a treat to our senses.
Thank you, Roy. I’m glad you enjoyed it. In fact, as other stories in the book show, it’s really to what’s going on underneath our feet on the bus that we need to pay attention!
A different and fun read, with a message, and a history lesson. Thank you.
Thank you, Phil. I’m glad it worked for you.
Creepy, but good fun.
Thank you, Rohini. Glad you thought so.
Hey ! You are at it once more ! I love your bus poems, as you know.
Hello Sally! Your constant support for my modest endeavours is always appreciated!
Is this what they call gallows humour?
Nicely done, Paul.
A comment worthy of your wit, Paul. Thank you.
The only thing wrong with the Gallows Corner at Romford is that there aren’t enough people hanging around there.
Yes. Perhaps a few of us senescent types at the SCP wouldn’t go amiss?
Ooh-er, Mr. Freeman! I think you’ve just relegated every Carry-On film to the back of the queue… poetically, of course. I’m laughing, I’m cringing, and I’m reveling in all the naughty things we’re not meant to revel in… and I like it!
You stay like that, Susan, and don’t ever change!