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#154

by Daniel Peterson

The girls in the backseat
of the bus
don't know it yet,
but they are the city¬ó
the only ones left
who still exist
in this bi-state area.
Their particleboard living room,
fluorescently lit,
(just enough to avoid being discreet)
cradles their hopelessness
with a low, steady rumbling
that's felt in hearts and bellies
and the shaking foreheads
firmly pressed against glass.
They're placed back neatly
by this metro artist each night
and remain vividly alive
on this inconstant canvas
that's recreated each day,
retreaded by tires,
stroked by their unmet desires
and painted as the bus pulls away.

01/24/2002

Posted on 04/24/2003
Copyright © 2023 Daniel Peterson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Frankie Sanchez on 07/17/09 at 09:35 AM

indeed. great write.

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