Bus Ride Poem by John Kipling Lewis
Bus Ride
Baby's head, so soft and quiet.
While mother looks on in shock its head cracks and bursts and spits blood and brains across the bus window. Already the large black man behind me has jumped me from behind. A mob from the front seats kick and stomp me endlessly as a mother screams in disbelief. As I lose my thoughts I can't for the life of me remember what I just did.
There's blood all over me but the blood on my hand isn't mine...
4. I have to disagree with the previous commentor. Dealing with violence is fine and a toned-down treatment will just be bland. However, the perspective here is off. The poem doesn't know what it is - an 'after the fact' or 'in the moment' treatment. Pick one, and describe - the description is good, just fragmented.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 7:42:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Not my kind of poem, I understand where you are coming from though. I think it needs a little more something to it.