Poem 84
December 1981 … the last of the bus poems (sequence: 37, 42, 48, 63, 84) … a happy end, who’d have thought? …
Early Bus
We had to remark on the storm the old man and me in the bus shelter 6:15am and I could have said your digital clock had flashed to warn us at 2:30 that lightning had blacked out the city and we'd have to trust to ourselves to wake and how I stretched a hand across your stomach and we spoke a word or two by morning forgotten but for the sound of a voice but I said nothing of this to the old man just climbed aboard the bus in a wrecked morning sky pale as a punk headachy purged sure the worst was over