City bus

There are only two people on the bus today

and one of them reminds me

of how I used to look

when I still had hair, guts and gall,

the courage to travel in a city bus

borne from a sense of purpose,

not submission to the indifference

of the great urban Goliath

that takes, never to give back

a small sinew of your soul every day

until you are left but a skeleton of a man

gnawing at your own bones for survival

groveling for a violent death

maybe under the same city bus

in the morning traffic, at 9 am

when the cars are intimate

and the smog, a vulnerable devil

I hope they cremate me without an eulogy

bury me without a headstone or a memorable epitaph

I haven’t led a good life, or the life I wanted to

i don’t wish to be lied to in my wake

as my soul is still pinned to the burnt tarmac

the rubber and the flesh

I climb this ashen stairway

hoping to talk to God.

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