Bus Girls (#poetry)

They are screaming and we are looking.
They are something of all
this metal, mechanics and speed,
jammed,
obnoxious as a squealing lathe.

For these girls, this sound
is not for fun.
There is nothing of the pleasure of night;
in fact, it is not night.
There is nothing of the camaraderie of friends;
in fact, they are not friends
their screaming
– a rusted spike –
betrays that.

Cold as a machine-shop
I’ve imagined
such cries before.
Behind the eyes of bullies,
the heart of borstals,
or in the stone
of closed asylums where even
madness no longer goes.
They are screaming and we are looking
and there, in impossible distance,
is the sort of
abandon,
dereliction of self,
my love could love.

Advertisements
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s