.41 bus

currently listening to
strange and beautiful,
aqualung

here i squat
in the sun
sky blue above
books heaped below
and the passers-by are by-a-passing,
pacing,
passing,
non-pausing,
passing still
till they are passed,
and more come.

and from my grassy bank
i catch a glimpse
o'er yonder -
the back of a head,
her dark locks of hair
and slender still shapely legs:
the girl in the red coat.

there she stands,
quite still.
peaceful,
worryless
inquisition.

i am here,
and from here i am
watching,
observing,
conscious guilt
or weirdness
rising,
however pull myself away i cannot
(as though anyone could).

maybe
like that feeling
when you find yourself falling in love
with your best friend.


still here,
still there,
still the passers-by
in the interim.

the moan of a bus approaching from up the street.

something catches her ear,
her sense,
her attention -
whatever it is,
her glance spirals.
a painted porcelain head
sweeping graceficiously
clockwise upon its axis,
slow,
searchfully
and innocent
towards me
as i squat
in the sun
sky blue above
books heaped below
on my grassy bank.


and then, the bus passes between us in a lunge forward of metal and exhaust, and momentarily she is gone from my gazing, and her inquisitive glance falls on nothing but distorting windows and mirrors and ac transit adverts, and then it is passed, and i can see her again,
the back of her head.



and maybe this is what it is like.