His name was Hughes, Plath, something like that.
It doesn't anymore. The driver talks
About himself. He guns the motor.
Diesel fumes begin to drift in through
The windows. Choking, everybody
Leaves, except for one or two in back,
Who deeply breathe the poisoned air,
And stagger toward the driver, saying,
“Only we can understand how skillfully
You drive.”
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 79 times
Written on 2014-06-13 at 13:05
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The Literary Express
Once upon a time, the bus would move.It doesn't anymore. The driver talks
About himself. He guns the motor.
Diesel fumes begin to drift in through
The windows. Choking, everybody
Leaves, except for one or two in back,
Who deeply breathe the poisoned air,
And stagger toward the driver, saying,
“Only we can understand how skillfully
You drive.”
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 79 times
Written on 2014-06-13 at 13:05
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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