Before
Lord Jenkins
Jan 6, 2003
"Lord Jenkins dead" and the snow still falling
The headline read over someone’'s shoulder
While our suburban bus goes crawling
Past reindeer and a huge toy soldier
Though the Christmas season's nearly over.
Their papers personal window shutters,
The riders raise their heads, then lower
Them down to the day's events. And through the gutters
The bus sloughs the snow; it spurts and sputters
While slush dissolves into the aisle.
It stops and starts with weary mutters
For nameless riders in double file
Who read silently another mile.
"Lord Jenkins dead": and there is no fame.
While one man reads of a British noble,
We others have never heard his name
And not knowing each other's, cast no blame.
"Lord Jenkins dead"; he remains unwept.
On this commute, we are all the same
And no one knows where our souls are kept
Or who would care if one were swept
Away. We travel untouched, and blessed.
The bus jostles on like a thing inept,
Yet solicitous to do its best.
But, pull the cord; our stop is next.
Lord Jenkins, too, is getting up to go
Papers down, we've each passed the test
And can light into receiving snow.
After
Lord Jenkins
Jan 6, 2003
"Lord Jenkins dead" and the snow still falling
The headline read over someone's shoulder
While our suburban bus goes crawling
Past reindeer and a huge toy soldier.
The snow's thick negative is colder,
Crisper than newsprint's black-on-white text.
We sink into the bus's uplit smolder
And grow dreadful. The last stop is next.
_________
Less is more? Less is more! Suggestions welcome.
posted by Reen |link| 0 comments
