The bus shelter poem was good, but the Elf poem was fantastic.
When can we expect to see a book of your work in the shops?
I have been published, Fruitcake, but in anthologies or local media - not a whole book of my own work … yet! Am currently working on a novel which, I am told by my proof readers, may turn out to be good.
I agree with Fruitcake, Tabby.
Very, very good. 
Thanks, Mups!
Don’t let any of our American members see this golden oldie!
ON THE GULLIBILITY OF AMERICAN TOURISTS
She was large, loud, and extremely rude – elbowing me out of her way at the Newsagents counter – cutting across my conversation without even an “excuse me” ! She needed change for the “laundermat” and flung a handful of coins onto the counter, complaining bitterly that she “didn’t understand British money”. Were we not forced into decimalisation to please such as she ?
I picked up my paper and my own change and beat a hasty retreat – thinking dark thoughts about brash Americans. However it was a bright sunny morning and my good humour was restored as I approached Bootham Park Hospital and saw the squirrels playing. Two of them had hopped into a concrete litterbin by the gates and were having a fine time throwing out empty crisp packets and apple cores in their search for more appetising leftovers. I smiled, and was about to walk on – when my ears were once again assaulted by that raucous Brooklyn accent – not only that, but she had the temerity to grasp my arm as she bellowed the question “Geez, am I seeing things ?”, as an empty coca-cola tin flew out – apparently of its own accord. The squirrels fell silent - probably stunned by the decibels !
Now, I am not normally unfriendly to tourists, but I had had enough of this particular person, and a mischievous imp took my tongue – the ensuing conversation went thus : -
Me: It is an automatic litterbin, do you not have them in America?
Tourist: Geez, an automatic garbage bin? No, we don’t have those in the States – how do they work?
Me: I am not sure precisely how they work, but it has to do with photoelectric cells. Do you see the road sweeper over there ? (one had conveniently appeared near the Registry office on the opposite side of the road) Well, normally he has to follow the traffic and stay on the left of the road, but, as he comes within a certain distance of one of these special bins, so an electric impulse triggers a small spring and, if the bin needs emptying, a few items are thrown out to attract his attention. He may then come across and empty it himself or radio in for a dustcart if his own barrow is too full to cope.
Tourist: Geez, how fantastic – that is truly amazing – can’t wait to tell them back home!
Leaving her gaping in wonderment at the litterbin I continued on my way to work – saying a silent “thank you” to the squirrels for not giving me away. I actually made it into the next street before startling several passers by bursting out laughing with unholy glee!
I wonder if she is still there?
13th September, 1983
Footnote:
This was published in the NHS staff magazine in October 1983.
That was very funny, ST.
Very witty, and some sharp thinking on your feets.
Thank you Tiffany and Fruitcake.
I would like to say in defence of Americans, most of them are nice intelligent people.
Unfortunately you tend to only hear about the brash, overbearing, ignorant and self entitled ones in much the same way as we tend to only hear about the drunken behaviour of lager louts in Spanish holiday resorts, not the millions of decent well behaved tourists that visit foreign abroad every year.
The vast majority of Americans I have met are polite, friendly, and genuinely interested in our country and our culture.
Here is another one from University - our tutor threw the line ‘rags of old lace’ at us - and gave us 10 minutes to write something using the phrase.
I came up with this:-
[B][U]Childhood Dreams[/U][/B]
Lying on the bed, comforted by candlewick.
Listening to seabirds and the distant
floorboard creak of Granddads footsteps.
Lost in memories of today,
scent of samphire, salty taste of sea,
sand insinuating between my toes.
Lost in plans for tomorrow.
anticipating the sticky kiss of candyfloss,
a walk on the pier, the promised Ice Show.
Summers breeze billows the curtain,
making shadows, like rags of old lace,
play along the painted wall.
Drowsing, drifting, as the sharp corners
of memory mellow and blur into
the soft roundness of childhood dreams.
© 2020
I can’t do that, ST. I just have to wait until an idea pops into my head before I can write anything. And it can be ages between ideas. 
A little tale of unrequited love:-
ASK ME TO PAINT THE SKY PURPLE !
You say that I must not love you –
that all we can be is “just friends”,
but can you so accurately draw a line
where love begins and friendship ends?
Do you not then love your friends?
My closest ones all know that I do –
and, of these, there are none who are
so close to my heart, to my soul, as you !
Ask me to paint the sky purple,
to sweep the Himalayas away,
to teach the Peacock to sing like the Lark,
to make Purnima rise at midday –
but don’t ask me not to love you,
for I wouldn’t know where to start.
From the day we first met and shook hands,
your fingers have cradled my heart.
But you say that I must not love you,
that I may not tell you how I feel,
and - maybe my feelings are foolish,
but that doesn’t mean they’re not real.
Meri Jaan, I will always love you,
with your permission or without it –
it is not something that I can switch off !
I love you – please don’t ever doubt it.
There – I have said the forbidden words,
and I promise never to say them again
except silently ,here in my soul, but
the feelings I have still remain.
You can ask me not to show it and
I’ll hide behind conventions mask –
but don’t ask me not to love you,
that is far too onerous a task.
Ask me to paint the sky purple,
to sweep the Himalayas away,
to teach the Peacock to sing like the Lark,
to make Purnima rise at midday –
but don’t ask me not to love you,
©2020
Translation of Hindi words - Purnima = Full Moon. Meri Jaan = My Life Force.
Tabby 
your writings, be they poems or stories, are a joy to read. 
So much talent we have on this forum 
What a lovely thing to say - thank you, Mags.
That’s beautiful, and conjures up so much in my imagination and I want to know more.
Who are these two people?
Are they both men?
Is one of them married?
Is it forbidden by their culture to love each other?
So much emotion yet so much left unanswered, unsaid.
YOU CAME SOFTLY INTO MY LIFE.
You came softly into my life,
You smiled and shook my hand
and every synapse exploded.
I wanted you then as I have never
wanted anyone before - or since!
You came softly into my mind,
You walked through my dreams
and left me gasping for reality!
Your gentle voice and your
soft laughter haunt me still.
You came softly into my heart,
You melted feelings that had
been frozen by time and old scars.
You awakened in me a need
to love and to be loved again.
You came softly into my soul,
I feel blessed that you did.
Although you were never mine
my world was better for your
presence in it, and I feel glad
that you came softly into my life.
©2020
Ooh Tabby, that is beautiful.
I’ve come over all mushy and peculiar.
That’s really nice, Tabby, straight from the heart…
Lovely Tabby. xxx
Thank you, Mups, Mags and Queenie! Glad you like my scribblings.