Prick Of Jealousy

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Does it bother you
That I see the bare, flat tummy
Of this woman on the bus?

My gaze is grabbed
By her reaching for the strap
Descending down her shape
To loin and view into
Her navel and lower to
Her strangely shaped packages
The confidential contents
Tucked carelessly into a bag
Clutched between her ankles

She bothers me
Feet firmly planted on the
Filthy, oily, stiff rubber grooved mat
Like a moving avenue
An avenue held still
By rivets

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