Wildes Writing

Tim Wildes

A man on the bus was speaking on the phone.

He said the word “fired” quite loudly and we all looked over.

It seems this was our innate pathological association of fire with danger.

And we all looked, despite not knowing why.

Despite the semantical difference, despite

our differing classes and identities.

I’m waiting abord this long slowed bus;

there’s a game today-

traffic is busy.

Abord our delayed vessel, I’m reminded how lovely us people are.

My groceries are melting, in the long wait,

but I’ve a smile on my face

that like our bus,

harbors a recognition of kin.

A smile built of belovedness towards brethren.

We’re all so simple and so human.