I Had To Start Somewhere

There’s me
on the bus,
late teens,
pen and notebook in hand,
looking surreptitiously about me
for inspiration.
There’s a young woman
ripe for blood sucking.
And an old man,
half asleep,
the perfect candidate
for reanimation.
The blind man sits
with a guide dog at his knee.
I have, not a few feet away,
the second coming of Cujo.
So many people just sit there staring.
They’re zombies, every one.
A simple bus trip
can be eerie, somber,
upsetting, nasty and frightening.
With that in mind,
it gets me where I’m going.