Is that seat flea?


The flea hopped its way down the train and landed on the back of my hand. I looked at the flea and the flea looked at me. At least, I assume it did. It is hard to tell if a flea is looking you in the eye.

I wondered how many times the flea had travelled from Norwich to London and back.

Then I thought about poetry. John Donne’s poem about a flea in particular. In which he attempts to woo a potential lover with the erotic notion that their blood is already intermingled in the belly of the flea, so what more sin could there be in a less intermediated mingling of fluids?

As a chat-up line this fails. She kills the flea with a sharp crack of her fingernails. As a rule I would recommend avoiding insect-imagery in verbal foreplay.

The flea lingered on my hand. Its belly bulging with the blood of my fellow travellers. It was not an erotic thought. I carefully lifted my other hand and tested the edge of my fingernail.

The flea… jumped.

Coach G. Seat 45.

I felt itchy all the way home.

3 Responses to “Is that seat flea?”

  1. Found a flea in the shop in holland once, I used a hammer rather than a fingernail. I have no idea if this subsequently had any effect on my relationship status…

  2. 2 ann

    It doesn’t suggest subtlety…..

  3. Not an unreasonable indicator then…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: