augury doggerel

Tuesday, July 16, 2002


With heavy baskets of berries, people fifty and sixty and almost seventy get on the bus, my bus from work to home, where it comes through the woods and stops near the gardens. The driver gives them five seconds to find a seat, then pushes the gear handle and lets in the clutch. Those left standing grab at rails. Watch the veins in their hands, their deflated arms. They wait for the bus to reach speed.

Beautiful teenagers don't stand for them. Boys are slung brown over the bars and the backs of chairs. They grin like magnificent apes. I admire with them a girl's long legs, plump and muscled, stretched out and just crossed at the ankles, and the engine's vibration working up through her brown breasts (unless it's my eyes). I use the chance to give my seat to a sweating man with too many currants, and stand over a lovely reading TV news all the way through the woods and down the hill into the town.


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