It was something to do. Direct the wordsfrom the mouths on the bus to the page.See something, say something. Signs togo, signs to stop, signs to do it slowly.
She says she doesn’t much like poetry, hatesto dismiss but it floats right through her,in one ear, out. Slippery floor. Leaves youwhere you started, right back beginning.
At some point, she acknowledges, somethingis better than nothing. Sitting on the couchstreaming smoke or streaming. Teacup ride.
Loop-de-loop. Traffic circle for fifteen minutes,Shakespeare in the park, audience of one drunkpigeon wheeling. See something. Say something.