Where Am I? Does The Bus Stop Here?

This is not my beautiful view

This is not my beautiful bed


This is not my beautiful duck


NanU fortuitously asked us to change writing location in a good week.
Catch the rest of the travelling riders here:
http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2010/10/poetry-bus-sarret-ici.html

I'm just back, and off to Glasgow tomorrow, so this is a bit dashed. However, night driving, hotel rooms on my own, strange cities. Now what does that take me back to...?
Possibly not one for the international readership, however.


Gold and Blue Murder

Good evening, Mr Noye.

You are, I hear, about, again,

to be a vindicated man.

You are a crook, Mr Noye,
a fact you would not dispute.
But not, you say, you swear,
a cold-blooded killer.

Stab wounds,
self-defence.
Twelve.
Or now, perhaps, eleven.

Should we meet, Mr Noye,
I am sure I would find you
personable enough.
We share, after all, a manor.
And yet, Mr Noye,
at the smallest slight
you would, I fear, take umbrage.
You are not, I suspect, Mr Noye,
a man to forget. Nor forgive.