the following is not a poem because it is all true but since i conceived it in poetic form here it is Interfaces I spend my days quietly now. My words coop up and my mind whirls round wherever my eyes go. I was on the bus last week and a middle aged Indian man, getting on, saw his acquaintance who held out his fist to bump and I saw this man smile and grasp for something to say brief panic in his eyes at finding nothing. I looked at him as he sat down near his friend and he looked at some laughing girls getting on and smiled and looked as they sat down. I saw him again the next day and we locked interfaces and I think he recognized me. I was sitting in the back of the bus last October and a man near the front got up for a woman and her babys carriage, smiling with his eyes at the child. We locked interfaces when he swiveled his head around and then he looked hard and strict; he worked his way through the bus and settled behind me. I wait for the bus and there is a cute girl waiting for the bus too. We board in the order in which we arrived. I look anywhere but at her, and out of the corner of my eye I can tell she has absolutely no interest in me. This is more comforting to me than the alternative. We get off at the same stop; I think she goes to my school. postscript: these line breaks come from the Notes app.
Posted on: Tue, 20 Jan 2015 22:07:07 +0000
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