Mature Student Days

For those of you who did by chance read my last poem Student Days, I wonder, would you throw a glance at what this says, it does depict a time of more maturity. The tram, it was identical, Krupp Steel, closed windows, overcrowded, at five, late in cloudy day, when alpine winds blow through most any garments and every crotch. Standing room only, I had the fortune to be, like a sardine squeezed in between the folding door and one stout blonde, she smelled of soap, and Ambush perfume, and if I had before that day, seen anything at all, it would have been a skimpy substitute. She was, what one could call endowed, (I'm working on inventing a term more fitting) , and I was there to doubtless, cushion her, protect her from sharp edges and perverts, who hang about in trams, my peers had told me. I loved that driver, or perhaps it was a combination of track design, and driving skills, even voltage fluctuations, I understand the commutator is the key to smoothness. Never you mind I told myself, taking my role and wearing an expression of pure duty and responsibility, a public service by a clean cut and mature young man. So many turns, and bumps, and stops, and slowing now, accelerating then, I wasn't much of a believer in those days, churches cost money, but thankful thoughts were sent that day. The journey ended, luckily, she had endured and stayed the trip, this was no innercity lady, she liked the sticks, the country air near Starnberg Lake. We did have, it is now apparent, our separate ways to take. A final Bim Bim Bim, and there she went. It must have been the streetcar of desire.