Morbid Transit

Sitting on the bus
too tired to read
listening to the clackity-clatter
of metal parts
shaking violently
as this hulking bastard
speeds across bumps & potholes
I’m just waiting for a bolt
to fly loose from the ceiling
& lodge in someone’s forehead

I’m thinking of weird shit
like being T-boned
by a U-Haul
driver high on “the pot”
folding the bus into a 45-degree angle
sealing us inside
would these plastic-looking windows
shatter, or crack into a spider’s web?

but mostly I think about
whoever’s seated behind me

like, what if they leaned over
& whispered something in my ear
breath all warm & moist
but not in any way sexy

or what if they put a cold blade
to my throat
& slit
or maybe just stabbed
real quick like
would I make a gurgling sound?
choke on my blood?
how long would it take
for me to stop breathing?
or maybe I’d move out of the way
fast like a ninja
turn the table, save the day

or what if they jabbed me
with a needle
full of saline
and said it was AIDS
just to see my reaction

or, what if, they slapped me in the face
with a Bhagavad-gita
or tapped me on the shoulder
handed me a bouquet of yellow roses

stranger things have happened
on the bus, I’m sure

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