I'Autobus

The clunky worm of the broken road loves all the
imperfections of its passengers.
As long as they pay.
No money, no ride.
Some pay to get away from their spouses.
Some pay to foist their Doomsday prophecies
on unfortunate others.
Some just got to get their asses to work.

The engine is roaring.
The heat is stifling.
60% of the passengers have washed themselves.
40% haven’t.
Sweat mixes with perfume and that elusive aroma of
musk.
That boy over there has his music on too loud.
Others seem consternated over the noise blasting
from those cumbersome headphones.
Why should he care?
Escapism.
Sonic din=sonic bliss.

Autobus;
the bardo snake that takes winding routes
to banal stops.
A place for all the car-less people of the
industrial world.
There is a type of nascent telepathy that takes place
In here.
Transmitted through quick glances and cramped
body language.
“I know what she is thinking,” says the inner voice
of the guy across from me.
“She is thinking about that creepy guy mumbling to himself.
She doesn’t want that guy to get any closer.”

So many get on.
So many leave.
What type of collective destiny brings
us together under this roof?
Why do we have to look at those advertisements for
STDs and call centers?
I think I would prefer graffiti or graphic depictions of dinosaurs
eating one another.
Or the bus driver should just hand us some paint.
“Go to work, son.
Slather.”

The mumbling man is getting louder.
The woman in the black skirt shifts her
body towards the door.
Her freedom is so close.
She can taste it.
Someone farts.
The boy—the 21st century punk—turns up the jams.
Infernal, anarchic chords broadcast themselves all over
the bus.
The mumbling man gets even louder.
A woman starts complaining about the malodorous stench
of the lingering fart.
A voluble couple stops talking for a second in order to open up
a window.
“Bus driver!” yells an old, boorish man.
“Get the boy to turn down that abysmal flapdoodle.
Some of us have hangovers.”
But the bus driver isn’t even there.
A jaunt to the coffee shop was in order.

I close my eyes.
I close myself off from the reality of this madness.

I wake up.
The bus is empty.
I can see garbage.
I can see fingerprints on the silver poles.
”Last stop, son.
This is the end of the road.”
I stumble towards the front of the bus and look out upon
the stark world.
The bus driver wasn’t joking.
End of the road.
End of all roads.
“Do you have a transfer?”
The bus driver says no.
There is no escape from a fate so all-encompassing.

When I step outside, I am greeted by the howling wind of the abyss.
I lose myself in the blackness.
When I turn around, the bus is gone.
Shit!
I should have never fallen asleep.