spindly

Across the darking evening bus

There sits a thin question markage ov a man

asleep

His spindly back full curvage round

too dripped a head

right down upon

his flatly opened book

the short story ov a broken neck

White corporation shirt,

grey tie, black slacks

Steel rim eyed hexhaustion

He looks so tired of reading

And sitting straight

N so he sorely bends

and painful dreams

of crookedness