Peoples
PEOPLES
Where are they going, this tide of humanity,
Stoically travelling a thousand miles
In the breeze of a hot summer in India,
Clinging to the sides and top of a train
Like flies to a jam pot?
Why are they busily hurrying,
Obeying signs saying walk/don’t walk
As if they knew not what to do,
Amid the honking horns of Bronx cars
Like drones in a bee hive?
When do they ever calm down,
These ice-cream eating, chianti sipping
Venetians, talking excitedly - about nothing;
While the canals bob with gondolas
And the flooding tide rises relentless?
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