Your Poetry Dot Com - Commute to Consume

It's high noon, the effulgent sun
is sieved through dreamy, shapely clouds,
forthcoming, guileless and brilliantly uncompromising.
It beams down on sweaty car bonnets,
and the lone bus commuter
vaguely traces
rivulets of steam rising from them
from where she is
vehicles wedged together impermanently
like Lego bricks arranged according
to a child's tottering whimsy,
held together by the grooves
known as a red traffic light.
Green light,
the bricks tumble towards different destinations,
as the bus heaves an exaggerated, sonorous sigh
reverberated by Commuter A -
He has an aura of indigestion
and a sour countenance.
'Looks like he's rushed through a week of starchy meals,'
muses the lone commuter.
Nothing like that would satiate
her hunger, growing
in audacity, gnawing
at her stomach
while emitting a wheedling growl
'What's my third meal of the day going to be?'
She wonders.
It's moving, breathing
inconspicuous consumption
not unlike Commuter B
who surely heard the pleading growls
but is oblivious to them.
Like a ravenous river crocodile,
his eyes betray his static presence,
pulsing with alertness
as he greedily stakes out
his next meal,
on Commuter C's SmartPhone screen.
Wizened but not without wiles,
Commuter C has laboriously
downloaded an entire pornographic movie
while his old wife
was raucously arguing with the neighbours
shoes spilling over to their doorstep
or something to that effect
Now he reclines
watching screaming orgasms
with the most nonchalant, stoic expression
known to mankind.
A mess of flesh,
unwittingly shared with Commuter B,
the cheap bastard.
Unknown to both of them,
they've missed a free show,
amateurishly staged by Commuter D
and his gormless looking female company
Commuter E looks utterly washed out
but gives them her unflinching glare of disapproval
so resilient,
Righteous Queen of the Crossed Arms.
friend of Commuter D glances around
self-consciously
but resumes
clumsy, puckering activity
getting a room's too expensive
and mom is at home.
And Commuter F,
Oh, grotesque Commuter F
pudgy with a popped collar
head retreating into his shoulders
obnoxiously gabbling over his cellphone
repugnantly imposing
his insider knowledge
on the property market
cussing over where to meet for lunch
spittle hitting the window screen,
he spreads his legs wide,
the King of Cellphone Bravado,
and the Lone Commuter jerks
in disgust
as she feels the heat
emanating from his chubby, probably dimpled thighs.
Averting her detailed bus inspection
she props up her leg
against the front seat
and looks out the window
into the sun
a million wants
under the same sky
against a backdrop of towers
'Hmm, bridges connecting buildings are really trendy these days.'

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