Missed Bus Musings
Cars wizz by,
My hair, brittle and wiry from the cold.
My nose, it drips.
My fingers, they slip into my hip pockets like clandestine lovers.
My heart, it sips on the thoughts of my brain.
My eye, it meets with the guy at the other end of the bus stop.
I’m not just standing here, sir. I am…. Musing.
My heart and mind, busy with yearnings and anxieties are constantly churning, processing, learning,
Inside there’s incense burning.
Never mind the greyish cracked lips.
Never mind the bruised cupid’s bow from the constant brush of a runny nose.
Never mind the quiet composed demeanour. I am a mess, a grotesque person.
Never mind the finesse.
I flick through my mind for a choice imagination, a comfort, a familiar friend.
Ah… there it is, ivory wedded bliss. This scene is 12 years old now, but it never gets old.
It is… timeless.
Year after year, it soothes the dryness.
It speaks of purity and intimacy, of knowledge and bravery.
It is, home for me.
But I check myself quick and throw off the rose-tinted glasses.
I throw off the strong arms around my naked waist, dark as molasses.
I taste the bitter-sweet reality of such a thing as ever wearing a wedding ring.
And suddenly, a ticket on this train of thought has proved too costly, as a debris of worries and fears begin to overwhelm me.
And I’m here… on Stapleton road… at 7:43 pm, running my mind on a treadmill.
Thinking of scenarios which don’t even exist.