Sagadahoc to Hudson (Free verse) by http://mulberryfairy
Devising this fervid affair
worthy of a scene in a John Irving book,
weâve pretended all the while
we could not stop this:
the finality of this rocking Greyhound bus,
each mile lumbering nearer to
our impending fate as adulterers.
Though we both know, (married 6 plus years):
We simply bore of monogamyâs monotony.
I climb the textured stairs
locating a window seat
where I can lean my pillow
against the moist draft,
my cash and weed tucked
securely in the pillowcase.
It started so innocently,
you getting my email address
from the alumni office,
us talking about schools, jobs, partners, children.
Dawdling passengers at the station
delay the bus while I shake my left leg of impatience
checking my watch as the bus groans tardily from the lot.
Eventually, our subjects changed,
we shared mutual complaints about partners
who donât âgive it upâ enough.
Finally, we are gliding over the interstate,
the glow of streetlights far behind,
the occasional trucker coasting by
this public sleeping place.
The conversation reminded us
of the joy of our past casual sex,
our deviant positions.
I check my legs to see that they still are smooth
from my careful job of shaving, lotioning,
my clean thong and bra wait in my carry-on bag
until the moment of arrival when
I will endure the stench of blue chemical flushing agent
in the midget-sized, wobbling restroom.
This âloveâ, so inconvenient,
two poor people living on opposite oceans,
yet now weâve constructed the chance of a year,
a 14 hour layover en route to your solo work conference.
We stop, and stop, and stop again
at Greyhound terminals in every nook of New England.
I stay on board, glowering at sleepy passengers
who get out to buy mushy vending machine pastries
and coffee that reeks of being on the burner too long.
The bus was the best price,
ninety dollars, round trip,
from the Sagadahoc to the Hudson,
Iâd have to cover my heightsick eyes
over each river in between.
Then we are halfway there.
Connecticutâs arrival is announced by
arduous potholes which jolt the bus,
arousing sleepersâ startle reflexes.
Once we gave up pretending to be reluctant (faithful)
we resolutely selected the date of a conference for you
around my period, for maximum oral possibilities.
Then there is a faint smell of smoke,
a feeling that the weâve ceased to accelerate,
I look up from my Kama Sutra book
expecting yet another stop
but see only the blackness of highway,
feeling the bus pulling onto the uneven shoulder.
The bus driver turns on the inside lights,
and makes his regretful announcement,
not seeming nearly surprised enough.
Fellow passengers squint and groan,
pulling out cell phones irritably,
I stare, mournfully, past my reflection
through the tinted windowpane
as southbound carsâ taillights disappear
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 4.857143
Posted: August 9, 2003 9:22 PM PDT; Last modified: August 11, 2003 8:34 AM PDT
Weighted score: 4.96158
Overall Rank: 8478
View voting details