It’s a tram driver’s secret, dirty dream
A horde of Boudicca schoolgirls racing towards him
Eyes only on him, clad in overconfident short school skirts
Unashamedly shouting and keening, eyes on him
As if he and they are both in a dream
Gangling legs too slender to support the burgeoning breast buds torso necks heads
Arms waving
Faces open beckoning
Black opaque tights disappearing between impossible thighs
Into the unknown and unknowing abyss that howls a siren call to him
Throngs of them, cheery like bluetits
Wanting something from him that only he can give
Such power
Time time time
Time time time to not shut the doors and refuse them
the tram’s mechanical warm embrace
Such power
Such wanton shameless desire.
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© Poemic 2011
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