Taking Time To Talk
A grey morning stubble is on this strangers cheeks,
Wondering why he didn’t shave I ask him such,
Replying isn’t his strong suit, clearly seen in his ignoration,
I look around for a friendly face, but there really isn’t much,
Except two children who thank the people round them,
Step keenly from the bus and meander down their way.
No one else seems to notice quite how cheerful they were,
It was rather refreshing I felt, this to the man I say.
Nothing at all once again, oh, how I wish, I wish,
That he was as chatter full as the woman behind us both,
Perhaps then we could be friends and come around together,
But someone sits between us and so the join is cut like cloth.
This older lady, with pink toned bag, and bird nest hair,
Is painted over all with a greyish tone and happiness glitter,
I think to myself this may be a moment to speak and discuss,
Or certainly to reminisce, drink tea, chatter, and witter.
The bus turns another corner and the journey is closing,
The man gets up and leaves, and before I’ve said a word,
This lady is moving on also; both my friends are gone,
Ahva, it is not a matter too big to away from and take toward,
A new idea, or imagining, of what this could have been.
The bus makes a second turn and is emptying every stop,
With people hopping here and there, down and up,
On every level or type of seat, whoosh, sit and plop.
Almost soon it shall be my turn to descend the stairwell,
And disembark the convenient transport of our city,
And when I am off and one foot on the street,
I am sure owners of cars look on me with a pity.