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skonen_bladesAnd just like every winter morn,
Vancouver did its best
To dampen dreams and moisten schemes
Pacifically Northwest.
I huddled at a bus stop
In this city on the coast.
A drooping, dripping, hunching, haunting
Sullen, soggy ghost.
I disdain umbrellas
But their utility
On days precipitous like this
Becomes quite clear to me.
Unlike the sidewalk-tinted sky
The color leeched to grey
The pavement mimicking the clouds
Its like. It’s dusk. All day.
And then the sound of rain's refrain
A backdrop susurrus
A blanket smothering all sound
With lullabies of “ssshhhh”.
Wet wheels go by on wetter streets
And no one talks to me.
And I dont talk to them. It's cool.
We get wet quietly.
Like overloaded sponges who can't
Soak up any more
Waterlogged and bogged and sogged
We're flooded to the core.
We marinate like human steaks.
We shower in our clothes.
Submerged in turgid waterfalls
Beneath the storm cloud's hose.
I waited here with sopping beard
Saturated thus,
When miracle of miracles!
I saw. A fucking. Bus
Our saturated souls rejoiced!
Our outward wet demeanor
Changed not a jot but deep inside
Our keening hearts grew keener.
The bus horn beeped as we all steeped
Like teabags in a cup
Of water cold, forgotten, old
We wished to be picked up
The hopeful wish was quickly squished.
We saw, while paralyzed
The most Canadian of sights;
The bus apologized.
It's blushing sign said “SORRY” and
I felt myself grow nervous.
The word rolled up replaced by more
Those words read, “NOT IN SERVICE”.
But as my hope extinguished like
A campfire in a flood
I saw a sight that struck a light
Inside my poet blood.
The sign had more! It rolled again.
I saw the very best
Error that I've ever seen
The next word was “EXPRESS”.
The SORRY NOT IN SERVICE bus
EXPRESS went by and through
A puddle deeper, dirtier,
And closer than I knew
And as the tepid, bus-induced
Tsunami splashed our way
And coated all our coats in coats
Of puddle-pudding grey,
I felt reborn! A christening
A change felt through and through
Because I felt a metaphor
Had nearly drowned me, too.
That bus was going nowhere fast
That bus was an “EXPRESS”
“NOT IN SERVICE” but so clearly
Working nonetheless.
Just like me, I thought with glee.
As years accumulate
And time's sublime dark tendency
Makes years accelerate,
And decades pass as if a month
Has only just flown by,
We fall through time and it speeds up
Faster til we die.
Ironically, ability
to deal with life recedes.
We can't pick up passengers.
We can't fulfill their needs.
We drive alone and empty,
Going faster temporally,
While losing that which makes us good;
Our functionality.
Ignoring stops while people wait
Our faces sorry signs
And “not in service” says our eyes
Through old, beleaguered lines.
My face, though over-moisturized
Just smiled through the drenching
As others cursed, my damp face grinned
And though my teeth were clenching
And chattering from frozen slush
And water chilled my face
I had a damp epiphany
While rooted there in place
I had become what I beheld
I knew ‘twas always thus
From now on, I’d be the “NOT IN
SERVICE EXPRESS” bus.
tags
Vancouver did its best
To dampen dreams and moisten schemes
Pacifically Northwest.
I huddled at a bus stop
In this city on the coast.
A drooping, dripping, hunching, haunting
Sullen, soggy ghost.
I disdain umbrellas
But their utility
On days precipitous like this
Becomes quite clear to me.
Unlike the sidewalk-tinted sky
The color leeched to grey
The pavement mimicking the clouds
Its like. It’s dusk. All day.
And then the sound of rain's refrain
A backdrop susurrus
A blanket smothering all sound
With lullabies of “ssshhhh”.
Wet wheels go by on wetter streets
And no one talks to me.
And I dont talk to them. It's cool.
We get wet quietly.
Like overloaded sponges who can't
Soak up any more
Waterlogged and bogged and sogged
We're flooded to the core.
We marinate like human steaks.
We shower in our clothes.
Submerged in turgid waterfalls
Beneath the storm cloud's hose.
I waited here with sopping beard
Saturated thus,
When miracle of miracles!
I saw. A fucking. Bus
Our saturated souls rejoiced!
Our outward wet demeanor
Changed not a jot but deep inside
Our keening hearts grew keener.
The bus horn beeped as we all steeped
Like teabags in a cup
Of water cold, forgotten, old
We wished to be picked up
The hopeful wish was quickly squished.
We saw, while paralyzed
The most Canadian of sights;
The bus apologized.
It's blushing sign said “SORRY” and
I felt myself grow nervous.
The word rolled up replaced by more
Those words read, “NOT IN SERVICE”.
But as my hope extinguished like
A campfire in a flood
I saw a sight that struck a light
Inside my poet blood.
The sign had more! It rolled again.
I saw the very best
Error that I've ever seen
The next word was “EXPRESS”.
The SORRY NOT IN SERVICE bus
EXPRESS went by and through
A puddle deeper, dirtier,
And closer than I knew
And as the tepid, bus-induced
Tsunami splashed our way
And coated all our coats in coats
Of puddle-pudding grey,
I felt reborn! A christening
A change felt through and through
Because I felt a metaphor
Had nearly drowned me, too.
That bus was going nowhere fast
That bus was an “EXPRESS”
“NOT IN SERVICE” but so clearly
Working nonetheless.
Just like me, I thought with glee.
As years accumulate
And time's sublime dark tendency
Makes years accelerate,
And decades pass as if a month
Has only just flown by,
We fall through time and it speeds up
Faster til we die.
Ironically, ability
to deal with life recedes.
We can't pick up passengers.
We can't fulfill their needs.
We drive alone and empty,
Going faster temporally,
While losing that which makes us good;
Our functionality.
Ignoring stops while people wait
Our faces sorry signs
And “not in service” says our eyes
Through old, beleaguered lines.
My face, though over-moisturized
Just smiled through the drenching
As others cursed, my damp face grinned
And though my teeth were clenching
And chattering from frozen slush
And water chilled my face
I had a damp epiphany
While rooted there in place
I had become what I beheld
I knew ‘twas always thus
From now on, I’d be the “NOT IN
SERVICE EXPRESS” bus.
tags