- By Scott Nicholson circa 1995
(This is a "Bones From The Vault" feature in which I put some of my old work up for public ridicule on a quarterly basis. I wish there were some religious significance in this, but really, I don't have the energy to add any deeper mystic meaning. You're welcome if you like.)
Stations of the Cross
Brown handbags lean against the red man, as does his strawberry girl, who holds a ragged paperback. Their eyes spin like loose buttons in a dryer, looking for a bus they hope will never come-
a quick sigh like blue stars slipping
Potato faces press against the window. An old woman in another man's clothes checks the pay-phone for change, then steps into the mist of the crowd. A fat man makes his hands quack like a duck.
janitor hugs his mop,
The automatic doors hiss and sigh, and figures cross under the red exit sign.
wear the miles
the spare time
-copyright 1995 by Scott Nicholson
Scott Nicholson copyright 2001-03ŠAll rights reserved