A marriage ended. Someone just caught the bus. There's
a sheet of paper like the white rabbit
heading for a storm drain, and my eyes
are doing their best to be Alice. Two
cars almost collide, and that couple
who are no longer a couple,
who are now separate, separate. She
walks off and he stays by
the bus shelter. A cigarette is stubbed out.
A second lit. A light turned on and over
there the rude skywriting goes the way
of all clouds as does my . . .A bus. A flicker. The engine and
the evening star. Some kids below with bottles
and stones. This could be music, but
they are playing one of my favourite songs
on the radio and I haven't heard it
since high school. The numbers on the clock radio
are as red as the morning after while the kids are
clouds. The DJ gets the title wrong.
The newly single guy is still standing there.
Another bus. He's still there. The neighbours
turn up their TV. Something happens
there. This does that. Subject
Verb Object
Letter
Letter
LetterSo many have piled up
I'll never answer