DEAR, SWEET GOD

Forgive me. I don’t know what to do.
Where to go. How to feel. I’m perched
on the precipice, waiting for the cliff
to crumble. No way to change what

happened. What’s done is done and I . . .
I can’t think about it. If I do, I’ll throw up
right here. Bile boils in my gut, erupts
in my esophagus. I gulp it down, close

my eyes. But I can still see him, lying there.
Can still hear the gurgle in his throat.
Still smell the rich, rusty perfume of blood
pooling around him. I so wanted him dead.

My father. Stephen Paul Von Stratten.
The bastard who beat my mother. Beat
my sister. Beat me. The son of a bitch
who was responsible for the accident

that claimed my Ethan—catapulted him
wherever you go when you die. Our unborn
baby rode into that wilderness with him.
Dear, cruel God. Why couldn’t I go, too?

THE BUS IS CROWDED

I chose a seat near the back, away
from the driver. Mistake. Too close
to the bathroom. It stinks of urine

and worse. Every now and again
someone goes in there and then it
smells like marijuana, though smoking

is prohibited on all Greyhounds.
At least that’s what the signs say.
Not like the driver cares. Easier not

to interfere with derelicts, dopers,
failed gamblers, and crazies. Oddly,
I feel safe enough among them.

Like freeway drivers in separate cars,
all going the same direction at the same
time, each passenger here has a unique

destination. A personal story. I try
not to listen. Try to tune the voices
out. Don’t need other people’s drama.

BUT SOME I CAN’T MISS

Somewhere behind me, a couple
has argued for an hour. Seems
he was up two hundred dollars
at Circus Circus. But she dropped
that, plus three hundred more,
which explains why they’re :
riding a piss-smelling bus home
stead of getting a little cooch
in a cozy motel room before
catching the morning Amtrak.

Kitty-corner and a couple rows
up, two blue-silver haired women
talk about their husbands, kids, and
grandkids. One of them got lucky
on dollar slots. Now she can pay
her electric bill and have enough
left over to put some back into
our savings. Shouldn’t have
took it out for this trip, but I
just had one of those feelings . . .