Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

The Yellow Bus

The yellow bus is capable
of everything
Summer.
I walk on a willow
swaying walnuts
and branches,
a woman on her back
split into bitterness.
Late my singing,
the back door opens,
and I am seized with greenery.
How petty!
First and foremost
you must ask,
why
have I eaten the icebox
and everything in it?
The plums were for breakfast.
Now I have nothing
but the smell of cleanliness.
It is a kind of borrowed pleasure
easily forgotten
with the setting of the sun.
And when tomorrow comes
I will be hungry again.
What then?
What will I eat?
The apples and cans and bottles of beer,
are no more.
The cardboard they came in
has been decimated.
The black shadows come between me
ribbed and slender,
waking me in the morning,
and still
all I have is crimson.