You may be wondering (or maybe not) where I come up with my ideas for these pieces. To be honest, I have no set method for finding topics to write about. This particular poem and the previous one ("At The Mailbox") came to me on my way too or from work.
A few weeks back I happened to drive by a man standing by a mailbox on my way home from work. I thought this was odd since I leave work at 6PM and I'm pretty sure mail delivery is long complete by that time.
Today's piece was just as simple. I passed the crosstown bus on my way to work late last week and decided to write about that as well. The curious thing is that the "crosstown" bus in Rochester goes from downtown out to the edge of the city. I anticipated a longer route that actually crossed the entire city. Shows what I know.
Enough rambling, please enjoy "Crosstown".
Swaying back and forth,
Like grasses in an afternoon breeze,
Staring straight ahead.
She’s late for work.
He hasn’t seen his daughter in a week.
Did that couple just sit on opposite sides?
They’re still not looking at each other.
Siren behind…to the shoulder as cops race by.
Baby crying…rocks to sleep.