This tabloid I hold impulsively bought
from the newspaper kiosk so as not to get bored
through tedium or languor... to ponder or browse
and while away time, shunning the world
as I stand in the queue, clutching my fare
and wait by the stop... in the rain.

I accept a brief grunt and nod of the head
[ begrudgingly sought ] from the stranger I see
five days of the week and clench my teeth
as he stands by my side, peering over my shoulder
and consumes the newspaper though it were his own,
in my mind I imagine him thumbing the pages.

Then looking up I impatiently mutter
and glance at the time with utter frustration,
I close the newspaper [ with smug satisfaction ]
and fold in my pocket, all dog-eared and damp
[ much like myself ] as I stand at the stop
and wait for the bus... to go home.**

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