read my last poem
Student Days,
I wonder, would you
throw a glance
at what this says,
it does depict
a time of more
maturity.
The tram, it was
identical,
Krupp Steel,
closed windows,
overcrowded,
at five, late in
cloudy day,
when alpine winds
blow through
most any
garments
and every crotch.
Standing room only,
I had the fortune
to be, like a sardine
squeezed in between
the folding door
and one stout blonde,
she smelled of soap,
and Ambush perfume,
and if I had before that day,
seen anything at all,
it would have been
a skimpy substitute.
She was, what
one could call
endowed,
(I’m working on
inventing a term
more fitting) ,
and I was there to
doubtless,
cushion her,
protect her
from sharp edges
and perverts,
who hang about
in trams,
my peers had told me.
I loved that driver,
or perhaps it was
a combination
of track design,
and driving skills,
even voltage
fluctuations,
I understand the
commutator is
the key to smoothness.
Never you mind
I told myself,
taking my role
and wearing
an expression
of pure duty
and responsibility,
a public service
by a clean cut
and mature
young man.
So many turns,
and bumps,
and stops,
and slowing now,
accelerating then,
I wasn’t much
of a believer
in those days,
churches cost money,
but thankful thoughts
were sent that day.
The journey ended,
luckily, she had endured
and stayed the trip,
this was no
innercity lady,
she liked the sticks,
the country air
near Starnberg Lake.
We did have,
it is now apparent,
our separate ways
to take.
A final Bim Bim Bim,
and there she went.
It must have been
the streetcar of desire.