Three Minutes and Ten Seconds

The bus to Pittsburgh rushes down the tunnel
and so I start to time how long it takes
to come up on the other side of the Hudson.

On my right, a boy, of college age, is reading
Genet's Funeral Rites. The book holds him
quite still, his body carved to hold the book,

just as my watch, a lover's gift, holds me
eyeing its hand wiping its white face. When
he turns a page, the bus sees day again.

It is not what you think. I have not been
resurrected through this fair freshman
and his encounter with a deathless art,

but this young man has touched eternity
because in the unheated Greyhound bus, the day
before Thanksgiving, I have taken time.

Comments

sarcasmus said…
more strong language!!! yah hooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
4:57 AM
Jee Leong said…
Hi Dan,
good to hear from you! I'm visiting Jason and Wendi right at this moment.

Jee Leong
11:02 AM
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