The bus rolls out
on a cold rainy night
and the greyhound
drives to the freeway
with a friendly hostess
distributing some cool drinks,
toasted sandwiches
with a choice between
chicken and mayonnaise
and cheese and tomato
and a girl watches me,
smiles when I catch her eyes
and there's something familiar,
yet she is a total stranger
and her friendliness let me wonder
if she is maybe a well-off prostitute?
But the way that she is holding her body
tells that she is not selling anything
and she is beautiful
and I wonder what she does for a living?
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem