Perhaps She Finds Me Dashing

Jumpy woman, I decide. I'm on a bus.
I'm fidgety myself, among the mass
Of groggy creatures on their ways
To work. The sun's too hot, the
Seats too small, the day devoid of
Promise, papers piled, protocol.
I wish I'd eaten. I did not. The time!
God damn it. There's no time. She
Stands. She's leaving. Not my stop.
She turns, her eyes have locked on mine,
A vague suggestion on her lips a sign
That she likes what she sees. The time,
So precious, I will find. She, the promise,
Newly found, descends. She stumbles.
From my seat, I stand. I tell the driver,
“Wait.” I reach the steps, and pay,
And then I jump.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 34 times
Written on 2011-08-10 at 14:26

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