A dead, rotting kitten lay next to a bus stop,
Flies congregate to a putrefactive quagmire,
Blood, now stained on concrete as a reminder,
Lay before the nose, as if blunt force trauma took life of the innocent.
Its transport beyond had arrived, but on unearthly planes.
The bus arrives, then flees the scene of the crime with haste,
Leaving the apparition of death in mind.
A driver named Loki stops the bus for woman and child, but in callous deceit,
Begins to retreat, leaving the woman to scream obscenities,
While her child clings to her breast, flailing her available limbs.
Blurred portraits of faces stare out greasy windows,
Dead eyes being the only response to her anguish.
A man, weighed by vulgar rhetoric, sits in front to be seen,
The social braggart interrupts the lives of all,
A metal hot box clouded with decaying words,
A prideful man unseen; a cry for help unheard.
The sky holds stars and infinite darkness to behold,
The moon, a dead rock in the incalculable space, gleams through a heavy fog,
Barely seen between dead, rotting wood and the silhouette of an immature tree,
Let this note the death of my day.