Poem 48
Another bus poem … from the grinding winter of 1981 …
( I particularly enjoy the rhyme of gang/drang … )
Late Bus – July
upstairs band rehearses a monotonous beat I'm hearing space invaders falling dead across the street boots and rasta looking for their gang gonna tell me a thing about sturm und drang cops in the mall they've got some kid models in the windows keep their feelings hid bus shelter tells me Julie loves J.I. punk suck and Bob Marley neva die but that wind's not off Jamaica it cuts right to the bone and I'm praying for a bus just want to get me home