Jerlstone Wanted a Poem

CHICAGO
by Mr. Grumpy

On the bus at 2 am, here I am
ambition’s run away
darkness holds no mystery
in all honesty,
I’m looking for a friend

but the wind blows cold and I’m all alone here
in a place I’ve never been, just holding on
to both my bags, a wool cap on my head
it’s cold here in Chicago.

The college kids all stare,
they know their way around
I walk aimlessly through the days again,
miles spent on broken thoughts the air won’t wash away.

Kill them all with cigarettes, smoking time
behind the motel where the beat-up girl at the front
desk sits at night.
She looks down when I come in.

Smoking cloves and killing time, life such as it is
rolling over broken thoughts and gone
people live here, people with a home
they somehow fit the puzzle.

If only I could recognize, categorize emotion
elusive, discrepancies in my steps as I walk past
home and earth.

The taxi driver dropped me off, chatted for awhile
we both watched the college kids walk by, and I wondered if
they thought the same, if they ever searched for home
this world is too big sometimes.

I stare out the window from the bus again,
a wool cap on my head
the still scenes of a life pass by
in slow motion,
the winds blew cold
on that autumn morning in Chicago.

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