Guy at the bus stop

[Brownlie]

I'm trying to get back into this, but I think the form and the rhymes murdered this poem. Anyway, have at it.

A man was waiting for the bus.
Averting my eyes, I heard
Familiar nonsense in his tone,
And listened as he slurred.

He held a bag of empty butts
That he kept lighting up.
Perhaps each lighter flick beheld
A dream that’s held in cups.

His pinioned wings were burned away,
And had been long ago.
Like naked men at sea he drank
The salty lifeless flow.

I fancied all this from his gait,
And drank him up myself
Against the active urge to place
Him on a dusty shelf.

I’ve inked him here but I forgot
The zenith of this tale.
He fell into a lear-like rage,
And soon, a silent quail.

---

While true, I think, that the meter and rhyme are off; but despite that it makes a pleasant read. Considering the story, I just don't like "Him on a dusty shelf". Best Loretta

I think you make some good points, thanks for commenting.