Bus Poem #14: Later Poem by robert dickerson

Shoe mis-tied for the third
time was I good and
late this morning, pocketing
billfold and keys, metrocard
slid into my scrambling
palm a glance in the
mirrorandgone. Why
did I dawdled why waste time, always
late making people wait.

But at 81st St. all became clear-
Remorse a waste, Lateness
providential delay as the
bus shudders to a halt, the door
snappes open and in stepped,
Angel, you I gasped while Fate
strove to keep a straight face.
Priority melted away like steel and
trickled away Justice shouted Purpose!
Nodding Indolence circling,
purred and fell asleep.

The great chain of Event
begun by the first Cause
leading to this sighting
jangled merrily, somewhere;
over my head I saw the
beauty of the divine
Plan the universe fell
to utter order marching
like a regiment away.