Two things you’ll never wait for: buses and women

Death is
slower than a city bus
but I waited.

The death/bus
had a bike rack
on the front.

I told the driver if the bus breaks down
I’d return the favor and carry it on my handlebars,
he just has to be my eyes.

Unrelated to the bus
I tried to cry tonight
I could feel the urge to cry rising like vomit
it fascinated me and
I had to remain calm behind the wheel of my little car.

When I finally parked I put the tall plastic Taco Bell cup between my knees,
the fast food barons are very clever,
this huge drink is 99% ice.

Beneath the lid and crook’d straw I heard the cubes chittering
all in there together packed
and the mild sound it made devastated something inside me
I knew finally I was going to cry
sure as hell as the skinny girl at the frat will puke a snake of hard liquor.

it was a lousy crying effort, I couldn’t make the tears even roll over the edge.

a calmer side of the evening thwarted the cloudburst and cooled the chittering ice.

I thought of a roach killed the night before, my host showed no mercy, poured rubbing alcohol on it,
a moment later it seemed to burn and one ugly barbed leg vibrated with death
as the bus arrived.

I don’t know how I haven’t broken down,
that’s how I know I probably have,
buses, roaches, cups of ice
all suffering, all breaking down, all
but most of all waiting waiting waiting waiting waiting.


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