~for Lalit Kumar~*
Pandemic, retiring, no more bus riding,
alas, the inside insights are far, few, and
the ****/time contiunuum in between poems
and psalms has graduated from metered dashes
t  o o l o n g  d i s t a n c e   r u n n i n g s,  and
the social etiquette of the subterranean subway landscape
forbids making eye contact, (you looking at me??)
a un~delightful
poetry inhibitor!

And yet,

will draw my inspiration from the
holy imagined
city streets, rife with innundating
strivings, wriithings, out-loud-shoutings,  
though
I dare to imagine that noise of the Cities of India,
whose buses I envison as a spicy potpourri,
a combo spices of a human tagine,
a multi-vegatable curried stew,
spicy, noisy, and lip
smacking noises

but whose inhabitants
bear and bare little compare
electric beheamoth hybrid buses of
three plus bendable carriage long length,
carrying all passengers of irratable disposition,
& only a minimalist passing resembalance, of
mealy mouths & closed ****** lips, trying to ignore the
**** wetness damp of a rainy and chilled spring  temp
that demands winter coast still be employed and of
course overcook and overheat the already grumpy grumpuses
of everyone, regardless of age, creed, gender and age,
and all the other slice n' diced categorizations
of the human race(s)

here I shall quit this long winded apology
in all its minor grist and glory,
this just a **** proof of
my continued
existence,
and a dbt paid to
Lalit Kumar,
who asked impetuously

"Please sir,
may I have some more?"

and here be
your starter
dish
of un-sub-springlike weather
in a city bus here, with passengers
of a Western ilk