Death Rides the Evening Bus Tapping the Soles

In response to Richard Brautigan’s
“Death Is a Beautiful Car Parked Only” 

Death rides the evening bus tapping the soles  
of his black leather boots on the greasy grime  
alongside the seat, his floor-length trench  
coat lying across his lap. 

You take a seat next to death and the first thing you  
notice is a smell like piss and the time a squirrel died 
beneath the drywall,  

But it’s better than sitting beside the old man with last  
Tuesday’s tomato soup dancing in the mats of his beard, 
wearing only underwear. 

You watch death silently slide his arms into the sleeves of his  
trench coat, stand up as the bus approaches the next stop and walk  
out the accordion doors dragging his rolling suitcase and someone’s  
body behind him.

KYLE SNYDER

Kyle Snyder is a technical writer living in Cleveland with two gray cats. He studied English and creative writing at Kent State University. His poetry has been featured in The Bastard’s Review and the tiny journal.