man with broom for head

man with broom for head

at first,
as i boarded the bus
in a confusion of sunlight,
i thought it was
a large moustache,
bristles trimmed neat and tight,
like the might
of the military.

then i thought,
perhaps it was nothing more
than a nervous caterpillar,
rigid with fear
in social situations.

it’s a broom
and it’s your head.

your hands don’t seem to be sweeping implements,
and at least one of your legs
pokes into the aisle,
and they all meet up in the middle
to form a torso;
rowdy,
like drunk kids at a Saturday night bus-stop.

but your head,
is most definitely
a brand new broom.

i am not one to judge,
but do find intrigue,
flapping in my mind
like a loose poster
for a band i don’t like anymore.

i wonder if you are married,
and whether there is a wife somewhere
with a shovel for a head.

they do say,
there is someone for everyone.