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Early Morning Bus

Karl is crazy.
Whatever that means

Every morning - sun or drizzling rain or
Sloppy snow or dazzling fluff and early
Fog in mind and air - Karl rides with me.

He doesn’t know my name. He waves at
Me wildly and absently sometimes. I nod
Awkwardly and afraid – silence and avoidance
Is the culture of public transportation

Where most hide behind their eyes
Living or simply dying beneath
Their muteness and sterile composure
Karl flops his tongue out in contemplation
And frustration

Karl wears earphones. Everyday.
Listening (I suspect) to the same
Beige colored tape. Everyday.
He bobs and rocks, hums and follows
Passing trees and people, while our bus
Clumsily stops and goes. Stops and Goes.

Everyday.

Karl’s tape player died this morning.
Opening the battery enclosure he carefully
Removed and replaced the batteries
Flopping out his tongue and licking his
Lips in quiet, intense, methodology

Click-Click. Wait. Click-Click.
No music. No Nothing. Silence.

Karl examines the tape. Shakes
It by his ear, scrutinizes it with his
Deep seated and dark eyes. Satisfied
He claps the tape back into the player

Click-Click. Wait. Click-Click.
No music. No Nothing. Silence.

A-tap-etty-tap-tap
A-tap-etty-tap-etty
tap-tap

Karl’s tapping his tape player
Desperately with the tips of his
Fingers.

A-tap-etty-tap-tap
A-tap-etty-tap-etty
tap-tap

People are staring. People are
Passing. The bus is stopping
Going. Blurry evergreens pass
By through the window

A-tap-etty-tap-tap
A-tap-etty-tap-etty
tap-tap

Karl makes music
No one says anything
All pretend they can’t hear
Or see. They can’t. We won’t.

A-tap-etty-tap-tap
A-tap-etty-tap-etty
tap-tap

Frustration to exasperation to sadness.
The tapping stops. Silence. Karl dies
Like the rest of us.

We let. I let the music die for
Karl. No one helped. No one sung.
We all died in an empty silent bus

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