The sky is upset.
I sit here,
in a seat thousands of other people have sat in,
wondering if things are every going to change.
I look out my window,
and all i can see,
are stresed out people,
living in a stressful world.
The sky is a torment of grey,
just waiting to seige it's wrath upon the unsuspecting "innocent" bystanders.
The term innocent is used loosly,
considering innocent is in the eye of the beholder.
My bus drives down the crowded outdoor mall,
and all I can see are homeless people being ignored,
while business class swarm in and out of the centralized Starbucks.
My bus picks up speed as it travels the well-worn path,
my own personal oregon trail.
From point A to point B,
everytime I take it,
I can't seem to grasp the memory of what's in between.
Today is even harder because of the world of grey that i'm surrounded in.
Industrial smokestacks penetrate the sky,
pumping thick, creamy, black smoke; invading.
The wind picks up in protest,
but it only blows around the little worker bees
and doesn't even phase the firm, relentless, stacks.
I look around my bus,
grey seats,
grey walls,
grey driver,
grey people,
and all I can do is frown at the fact that the world around me
is in an industrial slumber.
Every face is the same:
Long and sallow,
deep cheeks with baggy eyes.
It's almost like everyone is on the verge of tears,
but they can't let it out
because they are overcome by their corporate sedation.
One girl in the back manages a whimper,
but the old, wise woman next to her smacks her hand over her mouth;
silencing her instantly.
I peer out the window:
trying to see a glimpse of something better;
of something real,
but all i see are the same totem-poll faces
of the commutors in the cars surrounding me.
In the distance i see something.
Through the gently cascading grey snow,
i see a little red convertable.
Inside is a young man,
sporting big sunglasses,
with a matching matching grin.
I gasp,
because the top and windows are down,
and a scarf bellows behind him;
dancing in the wind.
He grins at me:
offering me a seat.
My bus and his car are racing side by side,
the driver glaring at his very apparent declaration of independance.
My face is pressed against the window, now.
I can feel the warmth of his hope consume me,
and i want to take the leap.
My fingers trace the lever to the emergency exit window.
i know that with one felt-push,
i could be free.
Leave everything behind,
start a new life,
eyes closed,
arms wide..
Then i realize.
I'm not strong enough.
I'm not the boy I used to be;
I'm the man i never wanted to see.
So i sit back down in my seat,
I wave goodbye to the gentleman in red,
open up my compact,
and i re-apply my totem-pole face.
Matty B.
