A poem of mine that was originally published at Gutter Eloquence, and then here, is now up at Eunoia Review. I was the last one on what I thought was the right bus. I asked the driver to make sure. I asked him again. He scratched his forehead just above his nose. He repeated himself angrily. I tried to simplify. I sat down a few seats behind him. I kept an eye on him in the rearview mirror.
Above his head there was a digital clock with red numbers. It was At the bus was scheduled to depart. At and about 30 seconds he began pummeling the gum that was in his mouth, his jaw working more furiously than ever. He slammed the door shut, pumped the gas, went tearing around the bend. I looked out the window. There was a guy running alongside the bus, his necktie streaming over his left shoulder, a briefcase banging against his leg, one arm frantically waving.
He kept a pretty good pace with us all the way to the end of the parking lot, but then we took a sharp left onto the main road. Fuck him. He was a couple seconds late. Like Liked by 2 people. When I saw that title, I knew it was you. I find this famous punctuality somewhat overrated. Like Liked by 1 person. I use it sarcastically, of course, because I was at time reprimmanded like a kid for being a few minutes late. I mean, I bitch between my four walls. I hate to prove myself right.
Like Like. I was late finding this, but glad I finally did. A wonderful whore, as B said. I hope all is well with you. All is great, but have been silent on here as of late. Art has been consuming me the past month or so.
Hope you have been well! Gonna stop by your place when I get a moment…. I have been silent too, without art consuming me, I am afraid. But I am well, and glad to hear you are too. And I loved this poem of yours — as if I was there to see it all. Menu Skip to content Home About Contact. Search for:.
