The Ugly Ride

bus 79

It’s true the bus is short and takes a route
less popular than others near my place,
and I was riding outside the commute
hours, but noting every boarding face,
it struck me how unhandsome and unfit
my fellow passengers appeared: infirm
and ashen, bent, ungainly, soon to quit
mobility, perhaps to meet the worm.

They’re members of my cohort, but the men
have let their butts relocate to expand
the belly that a belt supports. And then,
the adiposity no woman planned
has conquered shape and beauty more than years.
I quivered with revulsion for my peers.

This entry was posted in Aging, Misanthropy, Poetry, Transit, Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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