Buses

On Buses and Sea-Glass Thoughts...

Buses

Strange things, buses...

Boxes on wheels with people randomly entering and exiting. I can be in a crowd and be totally alone. I sit at my window seat staring out onto the city passing by.

Moving, yet motionless.

I feel like I'm in a movie, sitting in a stationary set with a superimposed background loop. It loses its feel of reality, becoming almost two-dimensional, like a silent movie that only I can see. A movie I grow bored of and retreat instead to the beach of my mind.

I am free to wander the shore, picking up thoughts, turning them over, washing off the sand and holding them up to the light. I pocket the precious ones and let the others sift through my fingers to be caught by the breeze.

Then with a sudden jolt and blast of noise—traffic and voices—I am back on the bus. And with the sense of loss one feels when one comes to the end of a really good story, it is time to disembark and rejoin reality.

Written in August 2001 when I was feeling downcast while job hunting and traveling a lot by bus.

surreal poetry
Skye Bothma
Skye Bothma
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Skye Bothma

I am a freelance editor and writer living the country dream in rural New Zealand. I'm terminally single, and live with her pet rabbit, Trixie. Visit my website at www.skyebothma.nz

See all posts by Skye Bothma