People Poem

Perhaps there’s a way
in which we love each
other well. Perhaps there are
only ways we love ourselves
and we are allowed and accepted
in this by others. I saw a man
singing alone at the back
of the bus, and several others
staring at their shoes and
to themselves chewing gum.
I smiled to myself and was proud.
This really is a cover up, we aren’t
very much alone. From our seats,
each of us on the bus feels the engine
hum, the big wheels spinning over
the pavement. At each stop a few
people leave. A few jump on. Sometimes
we see a man running up to the bus
or alongside it suddenly and the bus
just goes and the man throws
his hands up in the street. Sometimes
the driver grunts and slows the bus,
swings open the door and a heavy
breathing man sits next to me.

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