No.32: The Slythagor ,1983

So the slythagor hopped on a train
The thought lingered,it gnawed at his brain
To revisit that fiery cage
Where his last stand had ended in rage
As he approached, he was pelted by rain
And haunted at what it would feel like
To be there again
Since he had been there several years passed
He grieved at why time flew so fast
For he was no longer a slythagor
No longer funny or sly, merely a 'Gor'
He gave his ticket in at Fulham Broadway
to a man with a hat
He was a diploma student on a grant
Last time he did that
The streets of Fulham had not changed
And looked very much the same
Apart from a new shop or two
Or one that had just changed its name
As he came nearer to the old church
That had been converted to an art school
He felt eerily reminiscent of the countless
Times he had played the fool
He entered the deserted corridor
And stared at the notice board alone
Just as he used to , there at break times
When no one would talk to him
And he was left on his own
He proceeded tentatively
And descended a flight of stairs
Where he saw 'Joke' and 'Rubbin' conversing
He gave them his attention and awaited theirs
They persisted in chatting
But as one of them withdrew
He greeted Joke , who said simply 'Hello'
Not 'How are you ?' or 'How do you do?'
Gor , feeling speechless ,retreated
And went back to the corridor
He saw Rubbin ascending the stairs
He tried to make his mark once more :
'Hello Rubbin ' he said 'D'you remember me ?'
'Yes ' said Rubbin , 'Have you come for someone to see?'
Gor explained he was just back
To look and see what's going on around
Rubbin continued to head for upstairs
And the two ceased to exchange another sound
There he was, asking himself
why the hell he had returned?
Why did he come ? Who did he come to see?
Was this the reputation he had earned ?
He found no answer and hesitated for a while
There's no one upstairs that he was close with
To give him more than a plastic smile
So much for the visit he thought
As he made his way to the door
To see the place that expelled him
Having no time for a Slythagor
So back on the train again he found himself
Heading for whence he came
He is a Slythagor no more
His wings were cut three years ago
And now he is quite tame