BUS #58

Subways rattle overhead;

long corners scream the voice of metal.

Below, a street fills with faces.

Anxious gazes, newspaper readers,

nervous feet, fingers tap,

hats tilt; waiting for bus #58.

Warm city breezes swirl,

painting faces gray and humid.

Sweat stains armpits.

Foreheads glaze like thin frosting.

Collars breath unbuttoned.

Sleeves roll up tight.

Tiredly the bus doors hiss open.

Worn steps wait for tired feet.

Seats yield to deep sighs.

The aisle fills with suits and dresses.

The city drains of its people.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s