Route 13, Beeline
Sometimes on the bus there are a lot of hats, sometimes there are an awful lot of books. Today there is an abundance of crosses. And not just the regular Guido kind, but get this-today I saw some ghetto guy wearing a brandish gold crucifix easily the size of his hand, depicting not only poor Jesus up on the wood but also Mary Magdalene and all the other women groveling at his feet. Now here I am thinking that its either a really cruel way of reminding women they’re below men and all that, or the dude is really religious and the regular old cross wasn’t enough for him. I sure as hell hoped that he wasn’t one of those new age ghetto’s who’ve only been to church when their grandparents dragged their sorry asses in, and couldn’t give three shits about Jesus and the apostles and all the saints and the rows of candles gleaming in the dark at the Easter Vigil. If he is, I’m thinking it’s a very sorry world out there where little boys wear jewelry of dead men and a bunch of crying ladies like that.
Categories: Original Poetry