I posted on Twitter yesterday with the promise of a new poem tonight, and, well, here it is.
This piece is about an interesting character – a woman I encounter most mornings on usual commute to work.
The Green-Eyed Woman on the Bus to Nowhere
She doesn’t want to ride the bus today.
She wants to fall into the melting concrete,
Drown in it, be part of it, burn under the sun like winter burns into summer
…and live in it.
She wants to see a world where a man might only love for the eyes,
And she wouldn’t blink through the truth and savour the lies.
And she doesn’t know me at all.
But I see her eyes in the bottom of a wine glass –
the last sip that kicks, pulls me in like a kiss on a mind trip
and I hang on every word falling from her lips.
I watch her scan love interests as they pass her by,
shifting in her seat so she can analyse.
I watch a tireless mind through those storytelling eyes,
as they search for a perfection that doesn’t exist in the light.
And I catch her eyes, hypnotised…
but I don’t think she read me right.
I am not worthy of a second beautiful look.
I was written out of her mental rule book of
“People I could fall in love with,
or out of bed with”
and just in general
never tire of being with”
And I could talk for hours, digging around in our
fucked up minds.
I want to know everything they makes you tick,
everything that moves you,
everything that hurts you,
everything that consumes you.
And you’d have someone to tell it to.
Because I love listening to you speak.
But you’re waiting for a perfection that doesn’t exist.
I am not perfection,
…but I am a storm not to be missed,
We could be thunder and lightning, if you’d dare.
But we still ride the bus to nowhere.