A rebel without a clue.

S now melted leaving damp muddy Slipping steps caked shoes and wet toes Greasy and rotten brown ridged tracks Where all clothing must be ground. Old lady misses the bus And shits herself in the rush Trousers poo splattered And we sped on road. Fear of loving Live to not love Life free of loved Clove of lovers. All this rotten Brown coffee grown Trodden these feet Mud cracking soled. Soul is not hear Just impressed their Rubbered plastic Lipid feet trudge.

I t was like someone reaching 70, or more, Who had never been on a bus before.  Ah. She didn't know how to ask for her destination And maybe the bus had but one. To take her to where she needed to be?