I Don't Normally Go South of the River
a poem by J.E.A. Wallace
I DON’T NORMALLY GO SOUTH OF THE RIVER by J.E.A. Wallace I had that Neil Armstrong in the back of my cab but he didn’t say nothing to me, except ‘Can you take me to the Balham High Road? Just outside the Tube Station please.’ I told him I could have been an astronaut too but I never seem to have any time. It might have been me, the first man on the moon, if only the stars had aligned. After all what is the difference, I said, between you, Mr. Armstrong, and me? I’m just as much mankind as you are, I’d make just as giant a leap. To be honest I don’t think he was listening, he was smiling at the passing night; at the pubs and all-night chicken restaurants bustling in the rain-blurred light. Yeah, I would have liked to walk on the moon and seen the Earth hang in the sky. It’d be nice to be asked a few questions at least on long, cold and dark winter rides.
Meet the author:
J.E.A. Wallace has been a hotel night porter, an abattoir security guard, and a barman in The House of Lords. Born and raised in England, he now lives and writes in New York City.
His work has been published in Asimov’s and The American Journal of Poetry among many others, and his debut full-length poetry collection “Are You Hurtling Towards God Knows What?” is available now from Unsolicited Press.
My recent experiences with the underside happen whenever I submit a poem and include my bio, and I remember what it was like to spend all night alone in an abattoir.