Little Pippa. Love Poem | by James Krallen | Medium

LOVE POEM Like a weary workhorse, old and lame The antique bus would trundle up the hill Belching blackened fumes in acrid pall Bearing youth in all its transient forms We perched on filthy

terra-cotta seats Torn by schoolboy bullies and abused Ears ringing to the bawdy backseat songs Crowed by manic red-faced farmers’ sons When the Warnock brothers sidled past In a waft of cow

manure and straw I turned to face the window in a trice To watch the trees and hedges whizzing by Tractors, barns, the fields of cows and sheep Down the hill and past the dairy gates The

dry-stone wall gave way to cottages Smoking chimneys, grey stone terraces At the bus stop near the railway bridge A jolt, a hiss of brakes, a sliding door I caught my breath, watched her

mount the steps And slip into a seat just to my left Then little Pippa turned her head my way Chiseling through my boyhood at a glance With eyes that carved the moon, the sea, the sun Molded

mountains, made the rivers run Little Pippa popped a girlish smile I twinkled, fluttered, flustered, sprouting wings Faceted upon my seat turned throne I felt my blood swell in a flush of

dawn But teenage talons clung me to my place Perched me, swaying, teetering on the fence Between the luscious meadow of her grace And the straw stubble field of my shame PARENTHOOD POEM

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