Bus People Redux

I can not give like the bus people give

I can not love like the gym dogs love

I live with them as a crow among

Cardinals or the mourning dove singing

His dirge as the lilacs come to life.

Like an old spinster aunt, treated polite,

Deferentially, kindly if a bit superfluous,

With her Bichon Frise in a t-shirt.

I walk through the corridors giving

Pleasant looks and peasant stares.

The hands move and lights change,

Microsoft is up at twenty-nine twenty,

The new phone can remove ugly warts

And even will lay a million golden eggs.

But the clown is warning the village

That it is burning down, flaming out,

But all they can do is laugh thinking

The circus has again come to town.