I stand in the rain waiting for my bus and in the bus I wait for my stop. I get let off and go to work where I wait for the day to end and then go home, waiting for the bus, of course, and my stop. And at home I read and wait for my hour to go to bed and I wait for the day I can retire and wait for my turn to die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOT TRANSHISTORICAL DEATH, OR AT LEAST NOT QUITE by HAYDEN CARRUTH A SUMMER'S GARDEN by ROBERT FROST OLD MEN ON THE COURTHOUSE LAWN, MURRAY, KENTUCKY by JAMES GALVIN JOY (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO THE MEMORY OF INEZ MILHOLLAND by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 30 by CLARENCE MAJOR |