a body of poems

a body of poems

All the babies are crying on the Number 9 bus.
At Clark Drive, Beautiful Girl gets on, body swaying,
freckled breasts, belly below blue shirt smooth and
round and brown,
hair long, resplendent, red.
Judging mind takes in: round hips, shadow of underwear in
thin white pants.
Judging mind chatter: how could she show so much? Intrigued.

I close my eyes and wander in and out of vastness.

By Main Street she is old, and offered a seat by polite young men
in hip hop orange,
her hair chopped off and dry, boobs sagging in same faded and
worn blue shirt,
belly hanging over pants.
Judging mind turns away: how could she?

I close my eyes and wander, swaying, in and out of vastness.

By Granville she is stooped, body twisted, unshapely, face
pulled down by stroke and whiskered. She drools and cannot
feel it.
She stands uncertainly, stumbles.
Hands reach out to catch her.
Judging mind: pity.
In and out of vastness.

By MacDonald she is gone to spirit. This body time so brief, a
cross-town bus ride.

In and out. Vastness.
At Alma I get off the bus, walk five blocks to where ocean
touches city,
and swim again in deep delicious salt.