Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Tuesday, Strangers

This poem would probably better if I would stop listening to "Codex" off of Radiohead's King of Limbs over and over again, but I can't, so this is suffering from a lack of focus and perhaps from a leetle too much Gorgeous Melancholy. Sorry. It is, however, about the bus ride home today... and many evenings, and many mornings... and all the lovely strangers I never talk to and who never talk to me.

Tuesday, Strangers

There is a man on the bus
whispering to himself about a lost love...
"I didn't know what was happening."
And I want to say, "boy, do I understand,"
but I don't violate his whispering grief.

The man to his left is beating out time,
slapping his knee hard as he reads through a score,
and I remember cramming before choir practices.
I want to ask him what he's learning,
but I don't disturb his solo practice session.

There is the woman with the baby,
and the one who mutters angrily
so no one will approach her.
There's the man with the cane and the strange scars
who smiles to himself, quietly, privately.

Me, I'm the woman in the red hat,
with the wild brown hair playing sudoku on my phone.
I know they know me, and I know them.
We honor one another by not speaking,
playing comfortable roles in each other's lives,
steady and undemanding,
the most intimate of strangers.


Promising Poets Parking Lot said...

fun story..
well told.

Promising Poets Parking Lot said...

invite you to contribute a poem to poets rally week 41, a free verse is accepted.

We encourage, we share, we love poets, and we have fun..

Poetry awards may be assigned to quality participants/ first time participants.

Hope to see you in.