Changing buses by Morrison's;
I hate that smudge of Sun.
Smart young girl sucks fierce
on her cigarette
in the car park's dark
and trees outside
keep green secret.
I want today to be tidier
than it ever could be.
Go on to work, our kid,
with your troubles all packed up.
really enjoying those bus notes.. thank you!
ReplyDeleteGlad you could make it along for the trip, Marie.
ReplyDeleteThat's a handsome looking pile all right... every day another brick in the wall ....
ReplyDelete(Tidiness is next to... and at the end of it all?)
This is one of those scary dark-magical Kabbalistical numbers... uh-oh.
Jakob Boehme designated #49 as "The Paradise". He died at age 49.
The Buddha lurked 49 days beneath the Bô Tree.
The Zohar proposes 49 variant interpretations of The Writings.
Tibetan Tantrism cites #49 as the address of the Bardo, that intermediate world between Earth and Sky, where, following natural death, the soul is consigned to wander about for 49 days.
In the Old Testament the several verb forms of "to adore" occur 49 times.
In the New Testament, "to crucify", 49 times.
In the New revised Standard Version, "good news", 49 times.
At the new Morrison's, a bag of taco chips, 49 p.
how many secrets may trees keep? ...oh...I love that!
ReplyDeleteI'll have to tread very carefully till we get to number 50.
ReplyDeleteThose store shots make an art of their charmlessness.
Thank you, friends. Good to hear from you all.
I love how the one syllable words propel this poem from the start--as we used to say "peel rubber"!
ReplyDeleteCheers, Vassilis. 'Peel rubber': that's a bloody brilliant phrase!
ReplyDelete