Wednesday, July 10, 2024

Trust in

A man, beaten by the old republic, and his ego

His skin color is of chocolate tones, with callused fingers.

He's in his 60s or so

Wearing dark shades in the early evening

With a white baseball cap with no logo, and a burly mustache

He wears a sweater and sits at the front of the bus

It's 80 degrees today

He talks loudly. A little too loudly

I am sitting in the middle section of the bus, trying to read

He's so loud I cannot pay attention to my fiction

So today I will listen to someone's reality

He yells out in conversation to a woman who does not care

He recently retired out of the union

He did construction

He carried Sheetrock

He carried bricks

So now his body has paid for it

She still does not care, but nods in hopes of him shutting the hell up

His legs no longer work the way they used to

He's in pain, only when he walks, he jokes

The problem with life

The problem in every country

See, 20 dollars is nothing, he explains

It's inflation

Inflation is the problem

Someone get this man a drink

You see, he says, it's me

I take the bus

For fun, kind of

One really gets to know their city using public transport

I spend my day rubbing shoulders with gays, lesbians, transphobes, and the Jews

The young, the old, the rich, the poor - regular folk

The blacks, the whites, the Asians, the angry women and men

Atheists, Agnostics, Jesus freaks, and raging wannabe politicians

They feel I am one of them somehow

And I am, kind of

If not a phony one, an honorary one

I accept them for who they are and I hope they accept me

It's an unwritten statement until now

Trust in me

I'll do my best