hold it
the old bitch
is waving down to us
hold it!
hold it!
she’s screeching
the bus feels hot
idling there
hold it!
hold it!
i look down at her
dyed blonde hair
orange chicken legs
wide ass
tits sagging to her stomach
that voice again
hold it!
hold it!
like someone swallowing glass
and i wonder how many lives
she’s ruined with her tone
how many men she’s put in graves
with that wailing
hold it!
hold it!
when i get on the bus
i think i’ll be nice
but the driver stops me
before i get a word out
that woman has been
chasing me for blocks, he says
there’s another bus
behind this one
i shrug
go and find a seat
not baking in the sun
hold it!
hold it!
shrieking out into
the pale afternoon
until the bus doors close
and we move along
down the avenue
in near silence.
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2 comments:
Very nice. A great statement made..
Akeith...thank you...but the poem couldn't come close to the natural humor of watching this lady run after the bus.
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