Leaning heavily against the window
with icy cheeks, soggy boots;
the magic that accompanies
a rainy afternoon.
The bus is dark,
rolling exhaustedly down a road
painted with chronic rain
and sickening Monday gloom.
I hear them in the back.
They speak with muffled voices,
in tones I can never mimic,
about topics I can never understand.
And then we are silent.
One second.
Two.
"Did he really do that?!"
"I swear he did!"
But
"It happened after school..."
it
"...Andrew just got outside..."
begins
"...and all of a sudden Chris came up..."
all
"...and out of nowhere he..."
over
"...knocked him out! Right there!"
again.
God help me.
We have turned left
and I am losing my mind.
Rain,
rolling from the top of the window.
It collects its broken pieces
and dribbles out of sight.
I hum.
Gently. With such stillness
that I lose my voice
in the back-of-the-bus insanity.
"Dreaming of You"
We halt at a stop sign,
But my humming is constant.
The rain is still descending
when the bus hauls its way
down the road of chronic drizzle
and the typical,
but somehow, more tolerable,
Monday gloom.
And then we are silent.
And then they are silent.
The melody lingers,
a gracious taste on my tongue.
And I am not silent.
-jeannine
a.k.a. inkdrops:)
...I don't enjoy the conversations that I hear on my bus, so I tune them out by listening to a song; lately it has been some of Brian Culbertson's lol. I specifically remember leaving my iPod at home on the day described in this poem, so I actually had to hum them. "Dreaming of You" is one of my favorites. Very lovely :)
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