to the rush of engine noise
beneath our seats; to the lilt
of the woman’s sari-clad voice
three rows ahead, humming
a tune that might be
token for our passage.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
to the rush of engine noise
beneath our seats; to the lilt
of the woman’s sari-clad voice
three rows ahead, humming
a tune that might be
token for our passage.