* A Bus Line in Boston, Ma.

Losing A Stream of Consciouness On The Dudley Bus

Such a fey day

boarding the bus

staring out the window

at the shell

of the Wursthaus

how they ripped

that dark womb of Watney's and Wurst--

That corner

where I licked my open wounds

the solitary meals

hidden in the wooden booth

the comfortable barking

of the ancient waitresses.

 

The bus snakes down Mass. Ave

past the august domes of MIT--

The patrician towers of Beacon Hill

erupt in the distance

like taciturn old Brahmins

amidst the sleek towers

of steel and glass.

 

The bus turns down Harrison Ave

I remember the Shanty Lounge

the project rats

surprising me from behind

their cunning eyes

so feral

all of

us frozen

in recognition.

 

It's high noon now

but I squint for more light

to see the elevated tracks once again

the grid work of light and dark

the girders

shaking from

the roar of the metropolis.

I daydream

of the subway cars

and the sun's descent

into the backdrop

of city rooftops--

That din

that  I embraced

as a young man...

 

And finally

I sleep...

last stop.