Canto CCCXVI

Just like on that ill-fated summer’s day
when Shakespeare went outdoors without his cloak,
I’m huddled at the bus stop as the rain

bombards me from all vantage points and soaks
me to the skin despite the roof above
that proves no shelter at all yet I’m yoked

to it regardless til the red bus drives
into my view and I jump up and wave
like a castaway waving for his life

as a small biplane streaks the skies above.
Bit these skies are falling and I don’t know
if I’m visible enough to be saved

or if I’m but a blur beyond the flow
of sluicing torrents, the endless stream
that ripples down the bus driver’s window

making the world beyond seem like a dream.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Jul 11, 2012 @ 23:52:36

    I like this cos it’s descriptive.

    Reply

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