TUNNEL VISION

I have been working on this poem for a couple of months. It has been hard to get it into a shape I like. I had the first half but could not see where it was going. 

TUNNEL VISION

We walk inside a tube of air,

all curved white tile walls,

under the River Thames,

but that's not the strange part.

Cyclists, mostly men, I note,

on top range mountain bikes,

and in all the right gear,

hurtle towards us.

It's 6:15, going home time,

and they are ever so eager,

to face the two mile challenge

of office to train.

I wonder if their work lives

in the counting houses of Babylon,

are as fantastic an illusion

as this scramble under the river.

It is based on a true event. One Monday evening in June I was in Greenwich foot tunnel and I was faced with scores of cyclist riding into my face. This annoyed me [especially as there were no cycling signs all over the tunnel floor] but I could not help but be amused by their top range bikes and cycling gear. I have seen less well equipped cyclists on top of the Quantocks - where you really do need a mountain bike. I suppose this poem is me venting my spleen.
The photographs are from our return journey.

I must have my misanthropic head on at the moment. Here is another sketch.

VANILLA FUDGE

At last a taxi.

We clamber in to a monlogue,

his days as this small town's

bass guitar, heavy rock hero.

Put it all down to Vanilla Fudge he confides.

I remember them I reply.

Keeping to myself my opinion:

bloated, bombastic, sterile rock.

With this acknowledgement,

he feels free to eulogise them

all the way to our campsite.

This is not to be taken seriously. The link takes you to a performance by said band from 1968.
On a more melodic note: Hurray For The Riff Raff singing The Body Electric. This is an amazing song with a video to match.