Polaroid
Ten o'clock.
Stare out the window of the city transit bus
Which is more like a Suburban
That you swear was made in the dark ages.
Rock back and forth with the seats
A perpetual movement
As the earth sighs beneath the wheels.
Search the faces of the crowd
Their blurred expressions rushing by.
Pray to make eye contact with just one persyn
To share a moment with some one
Some thing, to share a brief
Bittersweet breath
As the bustling crowds bumble by.
Three more blocks disappear behind you.
This is your stop.
This is your fate.
To deny that fact is to deny yourself.
Well, you lost yourself long ago.
As you tread down the steps
A vibration strikes your hip urgently.
You reach into the pocket of your tweed overcoat
Pull out the phone. See the familiar letters on the screen.
Say hello. Ask, "How are you?" Say you're fine.
Lie about eating lunch. Lie some more.
About how you didn't quit smoking,
As you pull a slender cyllinder from a box and light it.
Lie about work, so close to that raise,
Hadn't you quit a week earlier.
Make plans to "Hang out sometime and catch up."
With little intention of keeping them.
Few plans are worth keeping.
Flip the phone closed and replace it in your pocket.
Inhale deeply and watch the tip glow bright red.
Decidedly enter a shop and purchase a simple pocketwatch.
Suck the last of the cancer from your filtered addiction
And toss it away familiarly.
Look up from the ashes and see a fire much brighter.
Two eyes burning with intrigue, caught just before collision.
Apologize. Laugh nervously. Apologize again.
Reach for the dropped pocketbook.
Revel in the awkward moment when they do the same.
Pull away and brush the hair from your brow.
Feel the searing pink envelope your cheeks, and watch beauty walk away.
Take in the fresh scent lingering in the air.
Cover it with a burning tube between your lips.
Walk behind the horizon.
Paint a polaroid picture of what never was,
But always should have been.
Smile and inhale, as the whitewash covers everything.
Fin.
Stare out the window of the city transit bus
Which is more like a Suburban
That you swear was made in the dark ages.
Rock back and forth with the seats
A perpetual movement
As the earth sighs beneath the wheels.
Search the faces of the crowd
Their blurred expressions rushing by.
Pray to make eye contact with just one persyn
To share a moment with some one
Some thing, to share a brief
Bittersweet breath
As the bustling crowds bumble by.
Three more blocks disappear behind you.
This is your stop.
This is your fate.
To deny that fact is to deny yourself.
Well, you lost yourself long ago.
As you tread down the steps
A vibration strikes your hip urgently.
You reach into the pocket of your tweed overcoat
Pull out the phone. See the familiar letters on the screen.
Say hello. Ask, "How are you?" Say you're fine.
Lie about eating lunch. Lie some more.
About how you didn't quit smoking,
As you pull a slender cyllinder from a box and light it.
Lie about work, so close to that raise,
Hadn't you quit a week earlier.
Make plans to "Hang out sometime and catch up."
With little intention of keeping them.
Few plans are worth keeping.
Flip the phone closed and replace it in your pocket.
Inhale deeply and watch the tip glow bright red.
Decidedly enter a shop and purchase a simple pocketwatch.
Suck the last of the cancer from your filtered addiction
And toss it away familiarly.
Look up from the ashes and see a fire much brighter.
Two eyes burning with intrigue, caught just before collision.
Apologize. Laugh nervously. Apologize again.
Reach for the dropped pocketbook.
Revel in the awkward moment when they do the same.
Pull away and brush the hair from your brow.
Feel the searing pink envelope your cheeks, and watch beauty walk away.
Take in the fresh scent lingering in the air.
Cover it with a burning tube between your lips.
Walk behind the horizon.
Paint a polaroid picture of what never was,
But always should have been.
Smile and inhale, as the whitewash covers everything.
Fin.