The Weird Afternoons

Why the afternoons
seem so weird, when the sun
shines brightly on the seedy slums
and the boat sits alone at
one end of the simmering river.
It's a bridge, yes,
the rattle coveys.
You remember your father,
white skinned,bald and almost beautiful,
looking at the bald pate of the afternoon man sitting
in front of you.
Is she married, or an widow,
the woman sitting next to you
you query yourself,
there are no tale-tell signs,
but a very pretty smile plays on the dark face.
Why not leave the seat for somebody
and take the beating wind on your face,
The train stops only for one minute here,
You would have to get down quick
with the baggage of a very uncomfortable
loneliness on your back,
The tenderness is starting to slip away
and indifference is almost threatening,
How long can you cling to love,
When you know that you became a victim of
someone's mad experiment
and some dazzling truths hurt too much
and they hurts more,
because you know, you had loved.

Dissection notwithstanding,
you try to embrace existence,
with only a heart
and a pair of sandals that
carry you to nothingness
and a cluster of thoughts you never desired
to have, because you know
how it is, to become a saint
and shun happiness.