Bus rides

Front seat:
the man next to me,
talked to me
for the next hours
of my ride…
about a murder
he committed
to avenge
a death.
He killed the man
who killed his father.
He was the boy
whose life was spared.
I wasn’t scared.
“Are you not afraid of God?”,
I only asked.

Back seat:
I can hear
out front,
for the driver
to stay awake.

Window seat:
(favorite spot)
avian thoughts–
rocket high,
drunk man,
on the move;
Fake sleep.

(Bus rides
are not measured by the hours
but by the horrors.)

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