A Poem --

Last Year on the #8 Bus

Never to be seen

again the woman berates

the stolid driver. 

The boneset veneer

of resigned solicitude

is showing its seams:

her anathemas

meanwhile begin new eras --

two entirely new

ones, but short-lived, tired,

much-tried,  yellow divider 

lines for throstle beaks,

like the two now left

half-open in the asphalt

behind the stopped bus.

JAB

Sunday, June 20, 2021