Poem: Glimpse of Springfield

This poem is from when I rode the bus. That’s how you know how prosperous in life you are… whether or not you’re riding the bus. And then, in riding it, seeing how you relate to others’ experiences as you listen to them speak. Everyone on the bus loves to talk.

Also, funny story. One night when I got on the bus, the driver drove off before I was sitting securely. The confident bus user I am, I thought I had my “sailor’s feet” beneath me as I made my way to the final row. I like to sit in the far back corner; it’s harder for people to crowd you, and you can see your stop coming easier. Well, when I was about to sit, the bus lurched, bounced, and I sat – right on the hard plastic edges between the seats. Yes, girls have “girl stuff” that can be sort of “racked” too. I do not recommend this. Some guy on the other side of the aisle heard my grunt of pain as I scooted over the four inches I needed to save my crotch. Moral of the story: Gravity is mean.

City Abstract

Downtown’s lurching
metal bullets
veer down dimly
lit streets and
the night crowd
rides them, their
lank, greasy
hair flipped back
with flailing,
bony hands, and
I see that Springfield’s
dusk is a half lit
tunnel seen from
within a cold steel barrel.


About jlnp

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