Wednesday, September 13, 2006
To the tough kid with that drawn look
Too much beerNot enough pussy
And a nagging at his mind
That he is not and never will be
Enough
So he slumps there,
Bus-stop-waiting,
Holding his breath every
Once in a while
To see what it is
Like
To imagine the blackness
He'd stare up at without
Knowing or maybe knowing
Until his eyes rot
In their sockets
At least it would be quiet
No heart pounding because
Of too many cigarettes
No bratty kid wailing in
The backroom
No thought
No nothing
As the bus pulls up he
Scratches out his cigarette
On the concrete and sticks
The unconsumed portion
In his front pocket ¶ 12:50 PM
Listen to this article
Comments:
Here's my bus stop haiku. Based on my last wait at 9th east and 3900 south.
Oh weird squinting man.
Why are you talking to me?
I'm trying to read.
#
posted by middlebrow :
8:44 PM
-Oh yeah!-
excellent last image
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posted by Counterintuitive :
9:54 AM
-Oh yeah!-
I too love that last image--also the third stanza.
#
posted by Lisa B. :
10:05 AM
-Oh yeah!-
Cigarettes can be quite expensive with over-consumption. Good for him. He'd rather have his lungs rot out than his eyes. (I'm with him on that one)
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posted by Swamp Crotch in AZ :
11:47 AM
-Oh yeah!-
Well observed, SCIAZ.
Thank you all for your kind comments. I quite like the last stanza too.
You should see this one performed.
#
posted by theorris :
11:46 PM
-Oh yeah!-
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