<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Love Often Bares its Teeth<\/strong><\/p>\n I am waiting for the number 44 bus, When I board I notice you are the driver\u2014 I pay my fare, give you a tip the elderly man sitting by the window, and Hilary Duff\u2019s \u2018With Love\u2019. Strangely, On the top deck a fight erupts. I hear your voice, and who loves you, of course, that\u2019s what mothers do, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00a0Mark Russell<\/strong> has published Saturday Morning Pictures<\/em> (Red Ceilings), and Pursued by Well-being<\/em> (tall-lighthouse). His poetry has appeared most recently in The Rialto, The Interpreter\u2019s House,<\/em> and Bare Fiction<\/em>. https:\/\/markrussellat.wordpress.com Note: \u2018Love Often Bares its Teeth\u2019 was first published in the pamphlet Pursued by Well-being<\/em> (tall-lighthouse).<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Love Often Bares its Teeth I am waiting for the number 44 bus, it is raining and my bag is full of books I have become less than keen to read; they weigh me down, prod and bump as if I carry a badly-concealed family of cats. And not for the first time. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10924","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10924","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=10924"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10924\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10927,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10924\/revisions\/10927"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=10924"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=10924"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=10924"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nit is raining and my bag is full of books
\nI have become less than keen to read;
\nthey weigh me down, prod and bump
\nas if I carry a badly-concealed family
\nof cats. And not for the first time.<\/p>\n
\nI don\u2019t know whether to make some remark,
\ndon\u2019t want to belittle your new occupation,
\ncan\u2019t decide if I should comment on how well
\nyou fill the uniform, if this might be
\ninappropriate. And not for the first time.<\/p>\n
\nbecause I don\u2019t have the right change,
\nsit in my favourite seat, enjoy the sting
\nand blind of oncoming traffic, see your face
\non the front page of the Metro
\nwith the story of your dimples. And, damn it,<\/p>\n
\nwho swats the rain as it hits the glass,
\ngrowls curses or compliments\u2014
\nit\u2019s difficult to tell them apart, especially at night\u2014
\nis also you. Your unshaven face is no disguise,
\nnor the smell of piss and chips, lager<\/p>\n
\nyou are also changing a flat tyre
\noutside the Spar by the school. I recognise
\nyour scarf, the angle at which you hold your head.
\nThat coat will have to go to the dry cleaners,
\nwith the soiled hanky you use on the jack.<\/p>\n
\nits gentle pace, the peacemaker\u2019s tone,
\nand all goes quiet, the tempest quelled.
\nAs I get off in Sauchiehall Street, you
\nget on with a surfboard, talking on your mobile
\nto your mother in New Zealand, whom you love,<\/p>\n
\nand I swear you see me, nod, pay your fare,
\ngo upstairs out of sight. The doors close.
\nAs the bus pulls away water drips from my hair
\ndown my back, inside my trousers. Even the rain
\nis you, breathing, beckoning, open mouthed.<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/p>\n