- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Bus Stop
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Halt.
A bus stops
and people climb out,
as passers-by look up
and conductor down;
and I with my headache
patiently await
the next.
Screeching.
Wheels roll
as pistons push forward
to beat the red light.
Like all other cars.
Though none of it ever
should bother
me.
Thunder.
Umbrellas open
and kids in raincoats
follow parents in 'trenches' -
all of them hurrying
while I sit still
looking at sky
and mumbling.
Rain.
Globular bullets
- headed haphazard
merciless arrows-
aimlessly my way
as I measure my luck
this morning,
as ever.
Throbbing
between eyes
and the temple.
The drums sounding louder
as water floods streets
gushes down my feet -
the trousers
all wet.
Leather.
Briefcase, mocassins -
flirting with temptation
to bloat in the rain
and further my disdain;
with no regard left
for maker
or me.
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