“MAY 29”

BUS 28 -
$2.50, paid in part
by a bicentennial
quarter. A five for
a white mocha. whip
cream? why not?
it's Wednesday.
7:28 AM,
CAR 7,
SEAT 13,
and 1 full rainbow
over the Narrows
Bridge.
I felt luckiest as
the train pulled out,
my bags and my life
beside me
now. And as we went,
fog roamed
the high green hills
and a wee boy at the back
begged his aunt to bring him
to the in-use bathroom.
After a while,
the numbers lose
all value. What matters
most
is the squeal
of metal. Wheels
on a track as I kill
my time ticking toward Portland.
I won't forget. But I won't
forget. No, I won't forget.
All my friends and all my
love.
The time spent doesn't
matter.
It's here and then
it's gone. It's like
the fog and piss.
There will always be more
so long as we
keep drinking
as we keep
riding south down the coast.

narrative poem written on 05-29-2013 by: on mattkane.com
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