The Ladies of the Carriage

Just for fun. Random slice of life piece.

A way 'ward home at tip of clock finger
Stroke of midnight after days spent
Drowning in cheap license liquor
A group of tall women came boarding,
Who soon as I see I judge as leagues away
From me in this game of tiers
That probably doesn't exist for my fear

And as they sit,
Aware that I most likely stink of s**t
I shrink to the green corner tip
In the aisle more exposed to people
That I care not a bit who'd bear
My rank, odorous hit

They chatter and natter away with a patter
Of bantering people I've known only
By name for three seconds,
since they spoke of the same
And picking up tails of their sentences,
I try to draw picture from loose ends
Dependent on groundings to measure

Indeed I wonder, what they might perceive,
Of this festering shell, that should have chosen
The other corner, by the window...
               He would then have at least been able
                  To look out and not snare the carriage
                       With his scared cider stare

Author's Note

Just for fun. Random slice of life piece.