Burke on the Bus
Fallen envelope.
The heavy plop of folded paper
parchment never sound
so heavy.
A rigid belly flop
on the floor.
A ripped attention
pulled from gonzo delusions
and terrible advice on early
2000s marijuana law, the length
of obsidian leg and gaunt calf
anonymous in the bustle
of silent respite, a public respect
of downtrodden eyes and bowed
heads, lucky if remnants of past
civil society prompt them to look
up from their phones or self-interests
to hold a door open or look you in
the eyes and say "thank you" or
"excuse me," coyly places heel
tenderly, imperceptibly, cautiously
as if to claim the prize fallen
from the seat before him
from youthful giant of pale skin,
tree trunk bicep, 'fro'd brown coif,
Khaki and purple school uniform.
In the wild-wild-West of the new
Millennium, in the dog-eat-dog
world we've adjusted, in the
shark tank we are born,
the young man claims as a finder
a prize to which he should not
be the keeper. As this man sits good
rereading lines of sinners who do
nothing and bad men who do evil
and, folly, sit idle on the wall
of perdition.
Michael Aaron Casares is the author of poetry collections, Even in Death (2021) and The Vanishing Poet (2020), and fiction The Distance to the End (2016) and Trick of the Eyes (2018). His latest chapbook "Black Orpheus: Poems of Dreams and Dementia" can be read at Wattpad.
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