KIM RUSH

The Poetry Of..
Kim Rush........................................................

Mass Transit

Waiting, sheltered by an open hut, we stare down
the salt-grey road for our ride.
No one talks, but all shiver
in the white winter wind.

Squealing and shaking like a mythical dragon it arrives.
We line up to enter as jaws hiss open; chivalry's forgotten.
Paying fares we walk the aisle choosing a seat
with the least threat.

A chunk of woman sits, alone, coughing to throw out lungs.
A connoisseur of wines sleeps in the back seat, last night's
selections dripping from pant leg like melting ice.

Thrown into our choices, the ride begins.
No one speaks as we rumble and bounce our way to almost-
destinations.
"RIDE WITH PRIDE, M.T." shakes on a sign above.

Stomach disagreements rub in the air around us.
Conversation between a man and himself
agitates to heated argument.
Inside the dragon's belly it is warm.

Screeching and shuddering to a stop,
a hiss and we disgorge.
With a puff of smoke, "Ride the bus, leave the driving to
us." begins again
and dragons still fly.

Falling

I picked an old man off the sidewalk today.
He came out the backdoor of a bus and went down; legs
twisting like bent cigarettes.
A chuckle muffled in the crowd passing by.
I reached down a hand for him to take.
"Can I help?"
Rain dropped wet circles on his brown beret.
"Missed the curb," he said. Taking my hand he gathered legs
and tried, but old friends failed.
Sharp eyes looked up at me. Water ran the crevices of
cheeks, catching in grey stubble.
The bus pulled away, spitting a circle of water from its
double wheels.
I walked round and lifted him:
Muscles, stringy across ribs that threatened to crumble; a must;
smile of skin below hat rim; smell of wet cat,
he wavered. I held him
a moment.
"Thanks," he slung over a shoulder--not looking back--and
moved away.
I turned and hurried away from the cold rain
careful the way I walked.

Wonders

I became aware of her standing there, striking
all of my senses like steel to steel--cold to spark.
She made me envious of Shakespeare's ability to understate beauty.
But, no, this was on a bus, mass transit, and she was
dropping coins down that lucky open mouth, that demands exact
change. Her movement timed. Time away--I wanted to hold that
movement.
Would she notice me?
For a moment she let me enter her brown eyes intimately
touching as she sat across from me.
The bus left its stop. What to say? She adjusted an unworthy
skirt around legs--a life's work for me.
Lines of poetry rowed my brain, but no, she'd think me
crazy.
Pick-up lines had no value.
The world outside our windows moved time away. Streets passed
with the minuets: Rose, South, West Michigan, my stop soon.
What to say?
I
was off, cursing a lead mind and wondering if she wondered.

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