The good thing about having children
Is that they understand the necessity to move
On, immediately
Move on
Move along
Move on keep on moving on
You, once again, know how it is
You always did, now, didn't you?
You and your fancy college degrees.
Bet you didn't think this one was going this way,
Did you
Fancy
that
Sent from my iPad
The riders on the bus were not aware of the explosion
They road along in bumping silence, kept company only
By their thoughts, their fears, the hunger, or by podcasts
They hurtled forward towards an interstate they would
Never merge with, eyeing the stop cord suspiciously
As their stops approached. Down through the valley
Wending toward a quiet doom that they just avoided.
Five minutes earlier and they would have all been burned
Alive in a gas tanker explosion that God had planned to
Destroy them. Of course no one would say that aloud
But as they crept closer to the site of their fate, the
Thought flitted across their faces as they leaned into
Their windows to get a better view of e roiling black
Smoke.
Sent from my iPad
He does not leave her until she gets on the bus
They are newly married, you see, and we all know
The longing look he gives her as she mounts the
First step.
He stares at the bus for a moment too long
While it pulls away and we know and he knows
And she knows he is smitten; he is hers; he is
Gone.
He turns to walk back to their shag carpet
Where he will lay half of the day killing his
Friends who whisper murder in his ear, not once
Thinking of her
And he is there on the shag when she returns
And he barely notices her in between fragging
A friend from Wyoming. Soon the child will
Be born
A child of lust and longing and desire and hand
Grenades. He won't notice it much either
As it cries for milk in one hand, controller in the
Other
Sent from my iPad
She wakes and suddenly she is divorced
Married in February, separated by May
Divorced by August, alone in September
The marriage, she knew, was just kidding
A means of making this guy happy
That something more might exist that
Would make sense of his mindfulness
But no, she knew better but drove
Ahead with him, even though they
Were clearly on different freeways
He on the interstate, she on the
Belt route
And soon they were miles apart
Not even texting would keep the
Bond that was only a joke in the
First place
And suddenly it is September
And in the back yard there
Is a rat, climbing the tree to
Get to the bird feeder he put
Up
It has no food in it, of course
But the rat checks it all the
Same
Sent from my iPad
The bus smelled of urine that morning
The odor hanging on hard from some
Unwashed vagrant whose days and
Nights were spent in a whiskey bottle
The bus riders tried to ignore it
Absorbed in their text messaging
Or books or music or staring blank
Into the fetid air
But on occasion you could note
The slight grimace cross a brow
The scrunching of noses
The down-turned lips
And even then someone would
Wonder how they were the
Unwashed. They were the
Vagrants going from here to
There
Sent from my iPad
