I have been away for a long while. My husband got an excellent job offer in Colorado and we are settling in, under the shadow of Pike's Peak. Here is a Seattle poem that I have revised.
Number 53
Our driver crinkles his brown paper sack
His cola hisses. He finishes his lunch.
He reaches for a book, but doesn't read it,
uses it as a protective barrier,
peering over the binding,
a hunted animal.
Chattering passenger,
chitterling thoughts
not fried right,
waves his newspaper.
It rustles beautifully.
If only, he'd shut up.
He knows all today's stories by heart
a freakish talent.
As the bus starts up,
he is preaching the word
of the Seattle Post Intelligencier.
At Admiral and 63rd,
he snaps shut his jaw
and rolls up his news.
Standing at the portal,
wearing his thick glasses,
the wind stirring
his knit scarf,
he is a WWI aviator
about to jump
into a dreadful
silence
Lucy Simpson, 9/2010, revised 9/2011
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Comments
♥R
Thanks so much. The chattering man is leaving the bus. The driver had been on a break, then the bus started up. Maybe more clarity is needed in the poem. I suspect this will go through one more revision before I send this out.
Your explanation and another reading (with a clearer mind) helped. No, the poem is not unclear - it was I who didn't get that something which you kindly pointed to me. Thanks so much!
Fusun
R+