I just edited a poem I wrote in 1982, it was published in Das Tor (image attached) in 1984, time to dust it off, eh? This one's for all of us who ride (or used to ride) the bus in San Francisco:
Glancing up from my hard-to-come-by window seat
Her hands flipping pages slowly,
Mouth intoning, she holds her squirming child
Reading a story, like going to the circus
Things bright and new
Not like every day, seats worn shiny
The worn handles grasped by many
Riding the Muni to work or home
Chinese ladies sport
Pinks, oranges, squares, dots.
Two dozen eggs crated, their white rounded tips pressing
against clear orange cover
How will she get those home?
So many soft sleepy faces today.
More than my usual morning share though,
of handsome men on the 5 Fulton.
Thin leather shoes with matching laces
and tastefully wooden heels
Leading to silver gray slacks
The ever-present darker-than-navy blue sports jacket.
Splash of gray in his carefully manicured mustache
Active eyes, lids not lowered
Unusual on this always sleepy bus with refined resigned faces
Flash of white starched cuff
Strides purposefully away.
Did you know
you were being sketched?
Catherine G. Tripp writes for grownups, for the curious, for those who appreciate wry humor. Her work has been published in Pilcrow and Dagger, Wingless Dreamer, Reedsy, and she has read her work for several Zoom shows in 2020, including the Mask Monologues, Coffee and Grief and Creative Caffeine. Her recent writings and blog posts have been insightful, fast-paced, evocative essays about current events, and thought-provoking memoirs about the tangled branches of her family tree.