“THE WORST”

The worst enter the back
to bustle, brush, and bump
a path to the front of the bus,
colliding with the fare payers.
They always seem to sit
beside the bum who stunk
too terrible for anyone else
to brave
the outside cushion with.
The bum even feels uneasy
beside the worst.
They unfold their newspaper
as though the
personal space of others was there’s
to conquer and crawl over.
Smacking their gum,
making odd little popping sounds,
they read the headlines
almost under their breath
and chuckle to themselves,
looking directly at us.

The worst are almost always comfortable
with who they are and it will always be
our problem if we are not
comfortable.

narrative poem written on 05-25-2011 by: on mattkane.com
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