Perfect Stranger Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Perfect Stranger
She looked out of the window
of the Seattle RTD, the freeway flyer.
I left the transit lane to have a look
when daydream mode was switched
to off and it was back to what I call
the madness of Adam for his Eve.
A shrew she was and reading Puzo
some kind of transformation had occurred.
I never saw the beauty in the window
again, and memory is unable to oblige
it surely was a visual construct, and struth.
Sort of hints of Ezra Pound's 'In A Staion of the Metro.' I like this one. Raynette
Hey, this is odd - I just posted a similar one myself. I really like this: }
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/13/2024 12:25:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I agree with Raynette more often than not. Good one.