leave the house in the clothes that had been laid out the
night before, t'mustard coloured trousers, all in yellow and
brown today.
It is darker out than last week, even thought the sky is clear.
The sun" not up yet, the sun is just allowing it's light to reflect off the shy.
The water is roaring over the weir today the river is full with the rain that came down over the mountains durint the now-past weekend.
There are ducks in the water, and on top of the walls along the empty promenades.
Who knows where-they came from-
The bus arrives, only person barding, the only man there apart from the driver.
The bus travellers are all spread about the bus, maintaining their zones of privacy to the greatest possible extent.
Caught falling into the eyes of a most beautiful young woman of African origin, she just sitting there holding her hand bag, tall and thin, neither staring nor looking away.
Look for a second, feel the mouth slacken, amazed.
Would like to look more, admire : but " would i like to sit there gawping like a teenager".
with no manners and no decency.
Look down, her feet under the seat in front of her, don't stare.
.
sit back, close The eyes, it is early, we are all tired.
Still, what can be done . A person of beauty is all, is all.
That she is, a person. Not a picture.
Not to be troubled or disturbed look down when the eyes open. At the next stop she leaves the bus, glance out at the window, see her light a cigarette as she stride along the street.
Cigarettes are ugly and childish, and so see that no one is perfect.
Good Mornint to the smoker, in his short trousers in front of the Railway station.
The man with the pigtail.
coffee and the silent television, the news ticker at the bottom of the screen.
News that the Turkish president has accused Germany of being undemocratic. Oh well, Turkey as the lemon haven of populism.
The sun is barely risen as the Train comes into the station, slowly moving to its resting place at the platform.
There is the silhouette of a cyclist on the distant bridge over the tracks,
It is darker out than last week, even thought the sky is clear.
The sun" not up yet, the sun is just allowing it's light to reflect off the shy.
The water is roaring over the weir today the river is full with the rain that came down over the mountains durint the now-past weekend.
There are ducks in the water, and on top of the walls along the empty promenades.
Who knows where-they came from-
The bus arrives, only person barding, the only man there apart from the driver.
The bus travellers are all spread about the bus, maintaining their zones of privacy to the greatest possible extent.
Caught falling into the eyes of a most beautiful young woman of African origin, she just sitting there holding her hand bag, tall and thin, neither staring nor looking away.
Look for a second, feel the mouth slacken, amazed.
Would like to look more, admire : but " would i like to sit there gawping like a teenager".
with no manners and no decency.
Look down, her feet under the seat in front of her, don't stare.
.
sit back, close The eyes, it is early, we are all tired.
Still, what can be done . A person of beauty is all, is all.
That she is, a person. Not a picture.
Not to be troubled or disturbed look down when the eyes open. At the next stop she leaves the bus, glance out at the window, see her light a cigarette as she stride along the street.
Cigarettes are ugly and childish, and so see that no one is perfect.
Good Mornint to the smoker, in his short trousers in front of the Railway station.
The man with the pigtail.
coffee and the silent television, the news ticker at the bottom of the screen.
News that the Turkish president has accused Germany of being undemocratic. Oh well, Turkey as the lemon haven of populism.
The sun is barely risen as the Train comes into the station, slowly moving to its resting place at the platform.
There is the silhouette of a cyclist on the distant bridge over the tracks,
No comments:
Post a Comment