The city bus jostles down the street
On every other seat a *** rests
As I glance around I see shoes
Instead of bare feet.
As I glance around I see pants
Instead of shorts.
When I look down
I see my gladiators, fuchsia accented
When I look down
I see my ten piggies with coral paint
I ascend up to my loosely pleated
Polka-dotted, monochrome smock
Sliced in half by the strap of my
simple, salmon, cross-body satchel
Sitting ever so obediently at my hip
I reach to eliminate a treacherous itch
Feeling my perfectly formed pleat
A pleat adorned with a moss rose
Itching without disturbing a pleat
Is always a tricky task to undertake
I find myself asking if it's in my head
If it's floating through my mind
like the smoke of the mind altering substance
That floats through my brain
I glance around the stopped bus
No one is moving, we are stopped.
So why am I still jostling in my seat
Like the bus is jostling down the street?
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
The city bus jostles down the street
On every other seat a *** rests
As I glance around I see shoes
Instead of bare feet.
As I glance around I see pants
Instead of shorts.
When I look down
I see my gladiators, fuchsia accented
When I look down
I see my ten piggies with coral paint
I ascend up to my loosely pleated
Polka-dotted, monochrome smock
Sliced in half by the strap of my
simple, salmon, cross-body satchel
Sitting ever so obediently at my hip
I reach to eliminate a treacherous itch
Feeling my perfectly formed pleat
A pleat adorned with a moss rose
Itching without disturbing a pleat
Is always a tricky task to undertake
I find myself asking if it's in my head
If it's floating through my mind
like the smoke of the mind altering substance
That floats through my brain
I glance around the stopped bus
No one is moving, we are stopped.
So why am I still jostling in my seat
Like the bus is jostling down the street?
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