Art Gephyr

The Last Bus

Running in the street
Past honking cars
Their brake lights
Streaks of red in the dark
As I zip past

Running on the sidewalk
I zag to the right
Around three-lane slow walkers
I zig to the left
Just before reaching
The trash bin erupting
With crumpled greasy paper and
Soda cups

Security and I lock eyes
But they wave me through, running,
The metal detector's screams
Now faint in the distance
The terminal's entrance
On the right
Up the stairs

Running in the mall
I dodge mothers
Baby strollers
And last-minute shoppers
That peruse sale-bins containing
Flip-flops, frying pans,
And shampoo

Running, reaching the escalator
Before the giggling gaggle
Of teenagers distracted
By their cellphones
Up the stairs again
Around the closing kiosk
Through the gate
I arrive just in time
Board the last bus and find
A window seat in an empty row

I'm not out of breath
My knee is fine
For once all effortless
For once all improbably perfect
Like one of those good flying dreams
Where you're whipping through the sky
Without the need for wings
And maybe it is a dream...

Except for those previously forgotten
Pints of beer
Now desperately pressing
The walls of my bladder
Begging for escape
At the beginning of the
Two hour ride home