It's one hulluva ugly corner to stand waiting

sonnet no. xcvi

This poem is written hurriedly this morning, and comes once again from standing at the 71 bus stop at Burnside & 60th, which inspired another one of these sonnets, “Every poet deserves a quarter-mile gravel drive”. I suggest any and all who live or visit Portland to stand waiting for the southbound bus there, preferably on a rainy day during rush hour. Something resonates there, although it isn’t a healthy something. But since you’re waiting there, you may as well board the bus when it arrives, and head south to visit me.

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