Bus Poem #1

Somehow still riding slavers,
over haunted hometown oceans.

Presenting dubious overpriced daysavers,
to blind ferrymen going through the motions.

The scenes alongside the ghost train tracks,
reilluminate along the way,
to sow their seeds of sorrow in my day.

See all the players went away,
and soon I’ll be left to wander this derelict theatre alone,
sifting through discarded ticket stubs,
dusting off old programmes,
trying to reassemble dilapidated faded sets,
but quite unable on my own,
and it’s not the same now anyway.
I have to play all the parts and there’s no one to watch.

Wondering how the hell I allowed myself
to get trapped inside here.

What black magic did I lack?
If I pray hard enough,
will you send me back?

This time I’ll break the pattern,
I’ll step over the bottomless cracks in the pavement.
I’ll learn to fight dirty.
I’ll steer clear of the bad lads,
with donkeys ears and tails,
puffing on cigars and downing ales.

For you,
oh cruel God of prescient sacrifice,
I’ll break my youth on the wheel,
until I steal my freedom,
from this frozen ghost train torment.