Thursday, February 07, 2008

My writing group assignment was to describe people in a public place. I chose the bus.


Balanced on bus seat,
back ballerina straight,
neat gray braid hanging
past her narrow waist,
tiny band-aid between
friendly blue gray eyes,
folded hands, quick smile.
How did she hurt herself?
Or did dermatologist take
and test skin? Malignant?


I hurry to my seat, avoid
his searching eyes, avoid
his huge white tennis shoe
extended into aisle, avoid
inhaling stale air he exudes,
avoid his pain. Who's baby?


The driver makes a difference.
Some hate to ferry us, hate
the job, hate the bus. Depress me.
But Marissa, always smiles,
never hurries passengers,
drives patiently, spreads peace.


Ruth said...

Thanks for sharing--I love the little glimpses into your life (and the lives of those around you). I love that you've included peices about two unknowns and about Marrissa--and that you haven't shied away from the hard one....

Dixi said...

I enjoyed your poems. I can picture all of these people. You were very observant noticing the tiny bandaid. I can picture the boy/man with the man with the tennis shoe in the aisle. I bet HE didn't offer any woman a seat! It was nice to 'meet' a favorite bus driver. That reminds me of riding the buses in busses in Waikiki. Sometimes just me. Sometimes both. When we both rode the bus one day, the woman driver was exceptionally caring of the passengers, it seemed. Even those like us that she would undoubtedly never see again. But, for the most part, all were decent people....not losing their patience with the horrendus traffic or the number of people trying to get on the buses or the people that would not move back to allow another 10 to get on. I hope these drivers are well paid. They deserve to be!