Chivalry is Dead.

This has nothing to do with poetry, so I'll end it with an unrelated poem. Wait on the eges of your individual seats, readership.
I rode the bus this morning. Yes, I ride it often, because public transportation is cheap and it helps the environment. Today's experience was increasingly uncomfortable, though, because it was a crammed bus, which meant standing room only. Not even breathing room.
So I was kept on my toes, quite literally, trying to reach for the holding bar abour a foot from the ceiling, which I could barely reach. In front and behind of me where two much taller men who were able to access much lower bars, and all around me were taller men sitting. They didn't even have the decency to tuck their feet, so any time I'd rest my heel for a second, I'd accidently step on someone's foot. Not one even murmured an offer of comfort, even though I was obviously straining.
I'm so dissapointed in today's male youth.
here's your stinking poem. greedy goats.

If the due date nears
I did not subscribe-
Fingers clasp in the next room
keeping time.
Nothing is as graceful
as anything at all.
So we'll wait as the hands twitch
clinging to the kitchen wall.
As slow as this pace cannot drive
Searching for answers
in the language of our mind
Is this losing time?

If we focus on breathing,
(that we can still do)
If we focus on decieving,
(lies are only different truth)
If we jump into these waters
and cascade our sin
If we let the time become us
then what have I begun?

In petty heart races
my stopwatch reads rewind
a million watchless faces
say they 'identify'.