Thursday, October 16, 2008

intersection on bush street (a poem for jon)



2031 bush street, san francisco, april 29, 1942. image by dorothea lange.


In the thick of my own sometimes deafening thirst
to lay at rest in punctuation; kneel between words
and seek out a little quiet time between those stops,
I would quite like to step on and off the bus.

And say hello. Exchange best wishes.
Shoot the shit as the gears change lanes.

And sit back down. Listen to the distances running.
One end of a yellow painted bridge and the other.
Eavesdrop, maybe, on a conversation,
just to make some sense of those intersecting lines.

Degrees which separate; define.
Gridlocked traffic. Ukuleles balanced late at night.

photograph courtesy of the bancroft library, berkeley, california.

7 comments:

ib said...

Well. A little premature. My regards are normally either too early or too late.

More often than not, they seldom get there at all.

Jon said...

Thanks Ib, you're always welcome on my bus.

ib said...

Cheers, Jon. Have a good birthday. When it comes, I mean. I'm a good few hours ahead of you here. I think.

Jon said...

Yes, it's already my birthday in Glasgow. Do something reckless for me would you? I'll be getting up early tomorrow and taking my car to be worked on. Some people know how to celebrate. I did buy myself a new pair of shoes. I sorta kinda asked a girl out but haven't heard back from her. The phone rang, I dashed to pick it up. It was a telemarketer. I was so annoyed I didn't know what to do, so I decided to be polite and friendly to the guy. It worked as well as anything else I might have tried.

ib said...

I detest these telesales calls.

Having worked on commission in telesales myself for a soul-numbing period, let me tell you; polite but terse is almost always the best tack to take with those businesses which rely on 'call outcomes' as much as stealing people's phone numbers and sundry details.

Keep a cool tone is case that girl calls back.

Blankfrank06 said...

Great poem IB,

I lied to a telemarketer and abruptly ended our conversation by saying I was driving. I could feel her hatred towards me through the airwaves, she knew. Oh and thanks for your recent comment.

Much respect

ib said...

Thanks, Frank.

Telemarketing is a shitty job, but I fucking hate these calls myself. One thing I've learned. It's better to let them know, unconditionally, that you are not interested; otherwise you keep getting those damn calls. The data keeps circulating.

Hope the new job is still going well, and all is good.