The Commute
As we approached,
they became more than just shapes
shifting and gliding on a wet grey street,
I stayed in the outside seat,
waiting for people to pass me by;
tall ones slithering into their places,
pin straight strands tracing the faces and figures
of suburban youth.
I was forced to the window
when an hourglass approached,
my unwashed rags swathed in perfume.
I tried to tell myself that we’re all just shapes,
colors and contours moving like fleshy sieves across the transom of the world,
and that beauty was perhaps applicable to something else-
Maybe a lucid cameo in the glass, beneath the incandescent shower
of a street lamp,
with a draped pearl necklace of strung bridge lights.
Tags: