the lone man’s mobility

on the countryside’s hamlet

depends entirely on a well

working bus system

that’ll take one to the city

but more so on the mood

of its drivers: the friendly/

contentious/ the grumpy/

the funny/ the unreliable/

as well.

on a saturday afternoon

the shown timetable is not


the poet waits at 15:52

and the bus is not arriving.

for god’s sake –

no use to complain –

offices are closed on a saturday

for ‘le weekend’.

now then/ walk a bit to the

next bus stop to kill time/

another bus in 30 minutes/

or else: walk half an hour to

the main road ‘wienerstrasse’

and get main line transport


it’s ok/ if one has nothing much

to carry

but now the poet has a painting

of his artistic endeveours below

his arm

for exhibition at a fashionable

coiffeur’s shop adjoining a

famous landmark

in the heart of vienna.

It’s not important to the vor-

busline organisation but for

the lone poet

or has there been some other



zoltanzelan    zjg-poetry’20.

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