R.T.D.

About me, around,

by the ton and pound,

the masses,

stamping feet, the sound,

surrounds me, the town,

the crashes.

Collar turned up,

hat turned down,

some modern anthropologist,

observing a concert,

unharmonious,

with life.

Cigarette dangling at odds with the wind,

lamp post, the third leg,

for a crushed mind,

mine, all mine.

Observer for the Russian,

edition of National Geo...,

something-or-other,

to remark on the art,

of moving mass,

around me.

About me, around,

can't I grab just one,

just to hear the sound,

of knowledge,

again?

©1983 Carl Erickson

Backstory: R.T.D. is the Denver area Rapid Transit District, I admit I have a thing about Buses and Bus Stops. Like elevators nobody likes to talk, I think it is movement or the thought of it. This poem also has a non-word in it, 'unharmonious' is a word i felt compelled to call into existence.