Bus Ride
Abraham de la Torre
The lady looked for a place
to wipe the pinky
that picked her nose.
Her straightforward face
never wavered from the purpose
as if it were a feat;
the furrow or two in her brow
thrown in to some extent.
Having exhaled the deed
she rummaged in her purse
for what one would wager
is a cellular accessory
and will be found wrongly;
she retrieved a possession
more prized and dabbed her nose
and dermal constituencies dry.
She will proceed with her privately-owned
devices while her seatmate struggled
with his wife's influence and his conscience
against judging her mediocre toiletries.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good theme, Abraham. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.