a stranger on a bus
He looked up at me, poked out a finger
and said (I think that is what he said):
me me me me me me me me me me.
He looked a bit loony when he said it,
shook me a bit. I thought, what the hell!
Did he mean me, or did he mean he?
Was I talking too much? I do go on.
What could it have been? A chat
was all...to my friend beside me.
Perhaps he was thinking something
about himself, something he was
ashamed of. That might have been it.
Having thought that, I felt much better.
I don't like getting a finger pointed at me
and someone repeating me me me me.
Makes me think bad things about myself.
If you have any comments on this poem, J. D. Heskin would
be pleased to hear from you.