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You can't safely have a cigarette outside of the bus terminal
without a couple of folk asking for one.
You can't safely have a cigarette in general.
But, if five of them have to last you a night and a sunrise,
you don't really mind turning down a few nameless hands.
Some of the bus drivers like to talk about football, weather;
others complain about management or the patrons;
a few don't say much at all, avoiding sympathy.
They're probably the smart ones.
They don't want to learn the sad stories in between stops.
I usually like to just sit in the back and ride out the best bumps.
The handrails jiggle and crash with every pothole.
-
The men who work at the metal scrap yard
usually get on in front of Debbie's Diner on 22nd street.
Bundled up for warmth and firm of face, they only speak to each other.
Small talk about who almost missed the bus, broken crane joints,
and who moved the most barrels of copper piping fill the blocks.
They tend to pick on the guy who runs the aluminum can crusher;
big guy, they call him "Boose" and he couldn't be much older than I am.
His hands and lips are dry and cracked from exposure,
but his face still shows ember of teenage years, though jilted.
There is a bar that serves three-dollar chili across the street, spicy.
The workers go there when they miss the first bus, have a beer,
down a bowl of boiling chili, and catch the return bus in better moods.
-
The railroads on Brush College road tend to hold up traffic.
The ADM plant doesn't really mind if a few twenty-something mothers
are late to their practical nursing and phlebotomy classes,
but they voice their complaints out of a cracked window to the side
of a ten story soybean silo nonetheless; steaming ears and all.
I stare at the graffiti on the laggard train cars, each unique
in color, quality, style, and message; the industrial Louvre.
These waits sometimes last a half hour or more.
In the days before Pell grant rewards come in,
when students still feel like they're working toward tangible cash,
the seats are all packed with heavy breathers.
The air becomes thick with community college carbon coughs.
tlp
Emma Pickwick Jan 2015
****** knees and knuckles
Falling over in the back,
Cigarette burns on the cushion,
I ripped holes in my jeans
And my face was being kissed.

Got sick halfway home,
Lines of blow and I lost my jacket.
I wish I didn't fall into this,
Wish I didn't jump in.

Felt like the winter and I made a connection,
Except I was dead on the inside,
Not the outside,
But we both looked so lovely,
You could barely even notice.
Emma Pickwick Jan 2015
I love you so much
Even when you sleep
And I can't hear your thoughts
And your mouth doesn't speak.

I love you so much
When you breath soft and slow
When you're driving and singing along to the radio.

I love you when you get so frustrated
And look as if you're going to cry
And you just sit down and look at me
Like I'm the best thing in your life.

I love you when you make me lunch on Sundays,
And lay with me in the sun,
Like two cats on the back porch,
I laugh and you come undone.

You're such a gentle soul
I don't know how you ended up here,
But I crave you all the time,
You subside all the sadness and fear.

You're an angel in the mortal world,
Too humble to ever let yourself see it's true,
You're the only one that can make me feel it,
And
I love you
I love you
I love you
Lol I wish this was actually true!
Emma Pickwick Jan 2015
I can't stop thinking about how everyone is someone, but at the same time everyone is no one.
Emma Pickwick Jan 2015
Took the night for myself,
Spent it in a basement full of liquor and people who's faces I've barely come across.
You couldn't find the time or the reasons to see me until I didn't care anymore,
Only a handful of exhausted excuses.

Twelve o'clock with Piper,
Cigarettes on the front porch,
You were calling my phone,
I was too busy to answer.

And if you thought I was yours,
You were wrong.
I hope you know
I don't want you to put in more effort now,
I don't want you anymore,
Now you're on your own again.
I'm kissing your friends.
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