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2020-06-17, poems


i watch the
devout straphanger
kneel to the bus
driver, and in agony:

why have

through masked
face, the bus
driver spoke: render unto
me only your
bus fare, not your
wellbeing, for i am
only the bus;
your life lies
beyond this

go, run to the
back of the bus where
you so
devoutly hang
on to your strap
every morning and,
if it causes you to
spread disease,
cut it at once,”

i felt the breeze of
possibly virus-filled
air as the devout
ran to the back
of the bus, pulled out
a knife,
and the bus driver

humble straphanger,
unlike your ancestor
abraham, i provide
no other strap for you to cut,
this is the one
you must strike.”

me and the
devout straphanger
got off
at the same stop
this evening,
i watched him weep
as the cars drove by
and he sat on his stoop,

for ten minutes he searched
for cars online,
and for fifty minutes he searched
for destinations.