bus boy
The boy on the bus has eyes like fishes
not dead cod eyes but
perfectly elliptical
fish shaped
slanting.
His father is old, his mother
wears sensible shoes.
An only child
alarmed by noise, counting solar panels
obsessed by bus timetables.
“What’s that?” to everything
clutching at mother when a branch
clatters on the roof
or the sky goes black.
“We’re going the wrong way!” he wails
as we head off to another tiny hamlet.
Racing down wet leafy lanes we skim through a stream
that fills the road after the downpour.
“What’s happening?”
The boy with eyes like fishes
swims through dark waters.
Ann Foxglove
Thu 14th Jun 2012 17:54
Hi Steve - maybe it was the photo that made you think of Deliverence (one of my fave films actually). I am really interested in your comment about conforming to norms - you may well have a point - it's a really interesting thought. Being totally untrained in poetic things (A level eng lit and the only poetry was WB Yeats - which I do like) I feel a bit cast adrift in the slipstream of what is best. I feel it takes more experience or confidence than I have, on occasion anyway, to decide for myself. My poems pop out on their own so when I have to make decisions and edit etc that is the hard part and I guess I would then listen to other voices.