Just a bus named “desire”

(streetcars often obsolete)

how we look
forgetting much
our fathers
theirs and such
as all had seen
while weened
we were
with bottle
or godhead triple
it is not the skin
without a wrinkle
nor even breasts
and muscles firm
but all
that in our past
we missed
hope we
in other’s youth
to kiss
it takes a heart
both brave and gentle
to wear serene
death’s impending mantle
That is no shame
in honest life
There is no blame
in years of strife
when gently
every girl and boy
(transgenders need us not annoy)
with no envy
love embraces
and we the old
remember our places.

Dr T.P. Wilkinson writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is also the author of Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..