Impressions from the Morning Bus Commute Jake Holmes

In the dark of the morning
at a rarely used stop
The black man comes..

A giant of a man..
Smelling of sweat
and crispy fried bacon
In soiled army green
Clutching a bedroll
His life packed in
Hefty bags

He shambles down the aisle
Ranting in the language of images
Out of context
Few can understand
Few want to hear

Throwing himself into a seat opposite
He leans forward, hands on knees
Fixing me in his stare of eyes unblinking,
Coal black as demon portals
Into an empty room

"Listen to me brother.."
His voice booms deep and frantic.
"..Look into my head.
See the pictures that
Come in the night
When the black is the light."

"this isnt real.."
Hiding behind hands
"..it's not real.."
as the brilliant white pain comes
between my eyes.

Voices swirl around me
Like tones undefined
on the edge of my hearing
The whispering of damned souls.
Then a sudden silence.

Slowly opening, I find
The leering demon has shrunk
replaced by a pitiful and dirty vagrant
wanting only a handout..
A cigarette or a buck.

'Last stop' yells the driver
'Get off..' left unsaid
as the door swings open
on the cold, wet street.

Comments

[Scott P]

Cool, Jake! Well done.

[gail]

It works so well because it doesn't say too much -- it just lets this brief series of observed and experienced phenomena speak for itself. To be all technical about it.

[kWAME B]

THIS PIECE IS VERY COMPELLLING. A QUITE MOVING PIECE THAT POSSESES AN IN-DEPTH TONE THAT REACHES OUT AND GRABS THE READER ALLOWING US TO PUT ON OUR THINKING CAPS AND TEST ONE'S CONCEPYUAL ABILIBITIES.