On Two Old Characters At the Bus Stop

“Well now, I’ve enough dirty knickers to be washin’, That’s why I never got married”. Now listen to them talk For it’s hard not to. He never got married or any of that other nonsense That people bother with. This friendly meeting at Stop No. 2- Two warm bottoms nestled upon The red bench that’s ridged like Unused strips of play dough- Has them engaged with heads near, Eyes scanning the square. See the pigeons flitting between All the unloved and unexposed crumbs, Petty ones mixed with big ones. Hear the funny truth left behind, The crumbs too small for big beaks. No borders with these two, Only the flowing of words and Speech without shame. Thoughts of the day pass Naturally and unpasteurized, Rough and ready from the soil, From one old head to another. “I never dyed my hair. No, never. Never will. I’m an ugly little thing I am” He hums briefly, Nods at her words As he digests them and Gazes at the ground, Then quickly up again. Marriage, hair dye, underwear. The topics of the day at Stop No. 2. Then they part like the pigeons there, Much in the way a flock sets off at once In mutual psychic energy, A resonant communiqué That binds the chaos as one. This rich stream that flows through Two old characters also seems to Flow through another generation, But one I cannot fathom. I wish for that flow of words Instead of staccato formalities, Stiff smiles, and fear of the strange. No fingers to point and no Inflections of the voice. Nothing. No big deal. Just clean empathy and consent Between two living beings. So let’s sit here and see What we can truly agree upon. Marriage and hair dye and underwear. Then let us part like two pigeons After we’ve filled ourselves With the little crumbs.