Distorted Perfections In The Bus StationA Poem by Matthew Bass
Cañas keep me awake
while my woman is passed out on my shoulder inside a bar with puke-aqua colored walls. The drunk man walks back and forth pacing and cursing at the bus. He smokes cigarettes and hits on the girl stuffing tapas down her throat. The old gentleman gives me dirty looks, then cleans every knife the barman gives him. He secretly hides the crumbs falling from his chin everytime he takes a bite of his croissant. Two Spanish girls order food and laugh about stupid things. They pretend they are above us but their belly fat rolls over their droopy adolescent waists. The barman has a nervous twitch and looks below all of us. I sit I sit I wait half dead from no sleep and twist my fingers through her beautiful Indian fingers and sit here akwardly still because she is sound asleep and her body is warm under my hoodie. I wait for the bus. To hope it never comes. © 2011 Matthew Bass |
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1 Review Added on November 1, 2011 Last Updated on November 1, 2011 AuthorMatthew BassSt. Louis, MOAboutIt´s funny how we think we are all on the cusp of something, and just have not been recognized yet. I am no different. I don´t really care all that much, but at the same time I do care. .. more..Writing
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