Alan Bruce Thompson
Alan Bruce Thompson Poems
She stood there pouting, adopting a film star pose,
As her curvaceous virile body, pushed shape into her clothes.
She perched on her stiletto heels, threw back her blond hair,
She stood high above the crowd, aristocratic, without care.
She rehearsed for hours to become Venus personified,
She got some men excited, the others she mortified.
She swayed along, her hips swinging, so vain.
And all of this performance to collect tickets on a train?
Missing Your Voice
I hear your voice sometimes now,
It's in the wind when it blows right through.
I hear your voice daily now,
There's no mistaking that sound quite true.
I hear your voice hourly now,
I start to wait for the upcoming cue.