The New Houstonian Physics
I rode to the town down
and up left my stuff
on the bus
Houston bound and gagged.
My bed sheets and duff
collecting dust out of sight;
I don't mind the loss--
unless they return
with that musty bus smell,
stinking of road rust,
feeling of Mars soil
red like rivers,
smelling like old man:
tatty and battered,
my baggage claimed badly.
and up left my stuff
on the bus
Houston bound and gagged.
My bed sheets and duff
collecting dust out of sight;
I don't mind the loss--
unless they return
with that musty bus smell,
stinking of road rust,
feeling of Mars soil
red like rivers,
smelling like old man:
tatty and battered,
my baggage claimed badly.
posted by Poetry Revolutionist at 2:06 PM
2 Comments:
Cleverly done, Oh Grandest Goose!!
The issue I'm dealing with is simply interpreting, ummm . . . (my eyes close) how this makes me feel, ummm . . . (I touch my forehead with my fingertips) deep down where my heart used to be.
For some reason, I suddenly feel like taking a nice hot shower and crying. This poem is steadfastly moving.
I'm laughing at you both. And pointing.
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