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“The RTD Bus”
He spent another weekend lost,
In a self-induced fog.
He just stared out his window,
Drinking whisky,
Straight up,
Out of an unwashed,
Well used tumbler.
The T.V. was on,
It was always on,
He turned it on,
And cracked open his first bottle,
As soon as he got in the door.
He hadn’t even bothered,
To change the channel once,
Over the last 2 ½ days.
He just used the sound,
To help drown out the voices.
Though he wasn’t really sure,
If they were voices,
Or just thoughts.
He wrestled with that question,
Maybe he was just putting,
Audible sounds,
To what he was thinking.
But whenever he really tried,
To figure it all out,
It just frustrated him.
So he just didn’t think about it,
And the T.V. helped with that.
He was on his 2nd fifth,
Half way into Saturday.
He could afford top shelf whisky,
But bought mostly cheap brands,
He never felt he was worth better.
His window looked out,
Over Sherman way Blvd,
A busy street,
That ran straight through,
The heart of the valley.
The endless stream of cars,
Had a calming effect on him.
The sunlight glinting off them,
Created an ever changing rainbow,
Of techno colored flashes,
As the cars sped by.
A RTD bus,
Slowly lumbered by,
It had a billboard ad sign,
Of the local channel 7,
Morning talk show,
On its side.
He hated morning T.V. shows,
Everyone was so,
Over the top happy.
It made him sick to see,
Those artificial smiles,
Painted on to those,
Fake plastic faces.
He picked up his tumbler,
And looked through the cloudy,
Mineral stained glass,
At the 3oz’s of whisky,
That was residing there.
Maybe tomorrow,
He’ll wake up with a clear head,
And a positive outlook on life,
He thought,
As he threw back 3oz’s,
Of cheap bargain liquor.
But then again,
There is something to be said,
About a muddled mind,
With low ambitions.
It made for a lot less disappointment,
And fewer missed goals.
He settled back into his chair,
Looked over at the T.V. cable box,
Just to check the time,
He had an early shift in the morning,
He could still get,
5-maybe,
6-hours of sleep,
If he called it a night right now.
He sat in his chair for an hour,
Thinking about that,
While having a few more drinks,
Before he got up,
And brushed his teeth.
Then he stripped down to,
His boxers and a tee shirt,
And just sat on the edge of his bed,
For a good 5-minutes,
Before he got back up,
Walked over to the refrigerator,
Then straight out his apartment door,
Down the steps,
And into the shadows,
In front of his apartment complex.
3-mintues later he could hear,
The sound on an RTD bus,
On its regular route,
Coming towards him.
17-seconds after that,
You could hear the sound,
Of 4-eggs hitting the side,
Of an RTD bus.
The yokes,
Dripping and sliding down the side,
At a much faster pace,
Than the whites,
Across the incredibly insulting faces,
Of the channel 7 morning crew.
After that,
He went back upstairs,
Closed his door,
And got the best 4 ½ hours,
Of sleep in his life…
Tom Allen…03-08-2017…
He spent another weekend lost,
In a self-induced fog.
He just stared out his window,
Drinking whisky,
Straight up,
Out of an unwashed,
Well used tumbler.
The T.V. was on,
It was always on,
He turned it on,
And cracked open his first bottle,
As soon as he got in the door.
He hadn’t even bothered,
To change the channel once,
Over the last 2 ½ days.
He just used the sound,
To help drown out the voices.
Though he wasn’t really sure,
If they were voices,
Or just thoughts.
He wrestled with that question,
Maybe he was just putting,
Audible sounds,
To what he was thinking.
But whenever he really tried,
To figure it all out,
It just frustrated him.
So he just didn’t think about it,
And the T.V. helped with that.
He was on his 2nd fifth,
Half way into Saturday.
He could afford top shelf whisky,
But bought mostly cheap brands,
He never felt he was worth better.
His window looked out,
Over Sherman way Blvd,
A busy street,
That ran straight through,
The heart of the valley.
The endless stream of cars,
Had a calming effect on him.
The sunlight glinting off them,
Created an ever changing rainbow,
Of techno colored flashes,
As the cars sped by.
A RTD bus,
Slowly lumbered by,
It had a billboard ad sign,
Of the local channel 7,
Morning talk show,
On its side.
He hated morning T.V. shows,
Everyone was so,
Over the top happy.
It made him sick to see,
Those artificial smiles,
Painted on to those,
Fake plastic faces.
He picked up his tumbler,
And looked through the cloudy,
Mineral stained glass,
At the 3oz’s of whisky,
That was residing there.
Maybe tomorrow,
He’ll wake up with a clear head,
And a positive outlook on life,
He thought,
As he threw back 3oz’s,
Of cheap bargain liquor.
But then again,
There is something to be said,
About a muddled mind,
With low ambitions.
It made for a lot less disappointment,
And fewer missed goals.
He settled back into his chair,
Looked over at the T.V. cable box,
Just to check the time,
He had an early shift in the morning,
He could still get,
5-maybe,
6-hours of sleep,
If he called it a night right now.
He sat in his chair for an hour,
Thinking about that,
While having a few more drinks,
Before he got up,
And brushed his teeth.
Then he stripped down to,
His boxers and a tee shirt,
And just sat on the edge of his bed,
For a good 5-minutes,
Before he got back up,
Walked over to the refrigerator,
Then straight out his apartment door,
Down the steps,
And into the shadows,
In front of his apartment complex.
3-mintues later he could hear,
The sound on an RTD bus,
On its regular route,
Coming towards him.
17-seconds after that,
You could hear the sound,
Of 4-eggs hitting the side,
Of an RTD bus.
The yokes,
Dripping and sliding down the side,
At a much faster pace,
Than the whites,
Across the incredibly insulting faces,
Of the channel 7 morning crew.
After that,
He went back upstairs,
Closed his door,
And got the best 4 ½ hours,
Of sleep in his life…
Tom Allen…03-08-2017…