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Friday, February 12, 2010

Meet me in the mourning.

Tonguing a hole in my molar, I dropped change into the metal slot.
I nodded my head, shuffled past the old folks, and picked a fitting spot.
My breath on the cold bus window grew a circle of unflossed distortion.
As we jerked forward, my hope scoured for the warmth of the rising sun.
And there she was, her gray hair matching the mood.
I looked at the seat next to me, hoping she would too.

Her hips popped as she lowered herself by my breath.
She said, "By god, son. You look like you know regret."
The past years legibly on my face, I decided not to lie for once.
Guarded, yet honest, my lips spoke to their slim audience:
"You might be right about that, dear, but I'll tell you where you're wrong;
Life is something to detest at best and should never be lived so long."

Her thought process, not what it was in her youth,
Gave me a stare, blanketing me with the heat of truth.
But when the over-sized coffin on wheels hit a dip,
What broke in that old lady was more than her fragile hips.
Several people watched and some even laughed.
As brittle hair fell into my lap with her head attached.

It was a sight to see, especially so early in the morning.
Of course, bodies are fickle things and can fall apart without warning.
Fingering her face, my digits sunk into her dry and sticky sockets.
Joining my remaining change, I shoved her wrinkled face into my waiting pocket.
The sun crept up, as if to tell us that we hadn't missed it.
With a pull of the cord, a red sign blinked NEXT STOP REQUESTED.

The doors flung open and I let myself out.
I said, "Keep going, but I know a better route."

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