Bus Stop

"The time, sir, would you be so kind?
Eleven-twenty, is it. Yes, yes, it is late.
And highly unusual it is too. Five times
a week, for more years than I like to think of,
I have waited here for this bus and maybe
twice, if I recall, has it been so late. But, sir,
now that we have entered into conversation,
may I point out something that bothered me
for some time now? Or, perhaps, irritated
is a better word for it. Have you noticed,
sir, our fellow commuters? Each waiting,
as we are, but with one major difference.
Each has a cell phone in his, or her, ear.
Each is engrossed in private conversation
with God knows who. As if a moment
cannot pass without keeping in touch
with business or home matters.
Some have said it is a fad, sir, but I
do not agree, though it does perplex me
some. It seems the human condition 
is caught up with itself. As if one must
keep in constant touch with a past
they just left ten minutes ago, or -
no sir, by God's name, it saddens me,
it does, sir, to see such self-centeredness.
I am sorry, sir, if I appear agitated,
but does no one realize how annoying
it is be with folk that seem so preoccupied
with their own concerns? Each of us standing
here, people among people - none aware
of the other. My word! Consternation comes
to my mind, sir. But I must say no more of this
matter. I have made myself clear, I believe,
and to go on would not be gentlemanly--
what? Oh. What is that? Oh, I see, sir.
You have an incoming call. No sir.
Go right ahead. Don't mind me."

J.D.Heskin

If you've any comments on this poem, J.D.Heskin would be pleased to hear from you.