THIS POEM COST ME THREE DOLLARS AND TWENTY-FIVE CENTS


it’s a curious mixture
of melting hail and freezing rain
so distinctly Canadian
that makes waiting for the 96
horrendous, in a word.
to get there
my boots become covered
in salty sandy slush
the colour of rainy days
and toxic slurry
only it glows a little less
and there’s no chance of accidental superpowers.
i take a window seat.
someone sits next to me who could be
either another student
a wanna be hipster
someone born without taste
or maybe an inter-dimensional time traveller.
meh.
i think i’ll start reading now.
i only have an hour and
a quarter to my stop.

© christine DINGLEY 2011

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