the little-girl boat

As a grown-up big-girl,

I sit two rows ahead of you.

In a little sea of gaudy seats

on a bus, all orange and blue,

I see you as a passing boat.

You're dressed up prettily

in white, like billowing sails,

as you wave to me so giddily.

You bob and duck in undulations,

peering at me between seats,

looking at the big-girl in front

as we journey down grey streets.

You sway in a happy breeze,

and I've caught a rippling smile

from the little-girl who beams

at me just down the bus' aisle.

I'll stick my tongue out like so,

and watch as a quaking giggle soars

through tiny body vessel, until you

beat baby fists like crashing oars.


You sparked a fire in the safe tower 

in which I locked a melancholy mind,

but little boats swim from light-houses

lest they beach themselves, and find

nothing more to see of the world.

My little-girl boat, across the ocean 

on a bus - with so many more harbours 

to visit you cannot show devotion

to one big-girl island a few rows ahead.

I am moored, and I am docked,

I ooze salt water to sweet passing ships.

I am alone, and to the dry sands locked.

The End

5 comments about this poem Feed