Bus Poem #31 Ll Poem by robert dickerson

Bus Poem #31 Ll



A strange and mystical communion commences.
No, I am not paranoid.
No, it is just my imagination.
My cheeks flush with shame, my chest
tightens with doubt and self-reproach. A
long horn-note of gallantry
enchanting, irresistible,
resounds down the corridor of conscience.

Moments pass, the tension is unbelievable.
I try to read the paper, stare out the window.
There stands she, the chubby child, here sit I.
In my peripheral vision I can see her lowered eyelids.
No, it is just my imagination.

Then with a groan heard by none I succumb,
gather my papers, my backpack, cap my pen,
get up and begin to move to the rear;
get up as if intending to leave the bus soon anyway;
get up as if intending to make the next stop.
The woman sinks down, draws the child to her lap.
Together, at the window, they study the passing scene.

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