The Bus Ride
Just stay away you pest, don’t move I say!
Strangers though we may be, you care no less.
Closer, closer to me, you start to stray.
Your legs spread out in hope for one caress.
Slowly you move into my marked threshold.
I feel your arms, body and bum pressed close,
too close for any comfort at all, withhold!
They think we are lovers in this tight pose,
sharing precious moments in times like these.
I don’t know why you make me feel so squeezed.
Suppressed, oppressed, I start to gasp for air.
To my chagrin, your head droops on my hair.
I glare at you but you pretend to sleep.
I have no choice but move to the next seat.
Lionel L
(17 May 1998)














