wrong bus

Flippant, in that way -
The eyes searched in a slow, judging sway
No different than a lazy house cat’s tail
As if to weigh the moment

And yet the ache festered there,
No matter how still or quiet I became
And it felt like my time to decide between
An honest death or a last attempt to save face

There is no home anywhere,
Just fickle little threads we weave and knot
And curling up here like the tired thing I am
let’s the light seep out in a trail of glowing molasses

And that can be sweet enough for a time
I won’t fight it, if I have found myself on the wrong bus
I will follow it through as not to disrupt
I just hope for someone to sit beside me as we wait



Poetry by aidan haskel The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 42 times
Written on 2025-05-08 at 21:51

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Albert Vynckier The PoetBay support member heart!
There is no home anywhere,
are the streets my home?
tough, walking people smirking
my dog hailing and barking
I feel alone in this city
people say, Brussels in every language
how many different languages to say Babel ?
2025-05-09