a poem a day for a year #122

I write poems on the bus
the rumble bump noise so loud
under my ass
I jolt and my thigh presses
against a stranger
he is an older man
sad face
badly dressed
but his teeth are magnificent
large white diamonds in his mouth
his smile breaks the tension

I write as quickly as I can
precious slices of quiet
time that is just mine
to tell stories to the paper
to make love to the paper
no one can say a word
no one even talks on the bus

outside the window are glimpses
of the human condition
mothers strollers
children blur
suited men rushing
some people strut
smoke brown cigars on corners
they all fly by
and I keep writing
I keep writing

look at her
she's got things to say
she's got words to stretch
like taffy on the local 31 express