The Poetry Bus Is Experiencing Life in the Fast Lane

Nanu is driving the Poetry Bus today! The challange is to write a poem in a place that is outside of where we normally are inspired to write. The comments thus far are bravely upbeat, and I can picture poets climbing to the top of crows nests and hanging off of sky scrapers and slogging through swamps to find this week's muse.

I know that the object is to write a new poem - not drag out something already written. However:

1) try as I may, I have not been inspired to write another poem on any subject since our children's book challenge.

And, 2) most of my poems are inspired and written in odd places. I have rarely written a poem while sitting at my desk.

So, uninspired again, I look for a seat on the bus anyway as I present this poem - previously written in a place where the poetry muse would not be expected to hang out under any circumstances:

Life in the Fast Lane

I've been standing here for hours now

with milk and whole wheat bread

as I glance again quite dolefully

at the sign above my head

The clearly written words imply

I should not be in distress

LIMIT TWENTY ITEMS PLEASE

CASH ONLY- FAST-EXPRESS

And yet I stand impatiently

in a glazed eyed cob webbed funk

while Black-Tee-Shirt in front of me

paws through impulse-buyer's junk

Straw-Purse-Lady moves in queue

and empties out her cart

the rest of us -with moving lips-

count from eggs to key lime tart

She's unaware of piercing glares

as we count to twenty-five

oh where's my tar and feather kit!

Let's string her up alive!

Then Black-Tee-Shirt -with impulse buys

sets down his case of beer

we all decide he drinks too much

his wife should leave him here

Diamond-Rings gets set to move

lines up her wine and brie

smoked oyster dip and cheese puff shells

that's food for thought for me

A smokin' date most likely sits

or paces by her door

while she's caught in the fast lane

stuck here for evermore

A checkbook flashes in the hand

of Baseball-Cap-Askew

All heads turn 'round and stare at him

CASH ONLY sir means YOU

We move at snail-like slowness

'til I finally forge ahead

and set my meager purchase down

tepid milk and stale wheat bread

Just then the check-out light blinks OFF

I can only stand and gape

"One moment please" says Misty Sue

I have to change the tape

Cynthia Conciatu

Check out the other poetry bus riders here!