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