Park
Put your hand on the cold handle
Open the door of my car
With squeaking hinges let
Out the musty dank air
And duck down your head
Your precious head,
Sit in the seat in my stead.
And buckle yourself in
Beside the column between
The warm bodies within.
Through the window is seen
Everyone else we’ve never met
And the scenery that
Passes us by.
2004
No comments:
Post a Comment