Bus Poem #15 Transfer Poem by robert dickerson

I envy the flimsy transfer,
the thin strip of tawny paper
caught in that pretty ladys'
pared and polished fingernails.

The transfer seems to laugh and say
'Stay, exalted moment, you are so fair!
In her blood-warm palm the thing with joy
seems only a little shy of catching fire.

My one eye sees the little tag of paper
stand erect, then wilt
in the atmosphere of her perfume;
yet, soon, I reflect, she will bolt

down the chute and down the crowded street-
vanish like everything pretty, and you,
foolish transfer, for her betterment
be flung behind somewheres, too.