Prose Poem

The bus driver had diarrhea. He kept stopping every block to run and knock on someone’s door. A woman’s roosters where crowing. Everyone on the bus was singing different songs, which made it tough to watch for meteors. The old man next to me wore his silver beard as a shirt.


In bed I heard someone yelling in the yard at midnight.
Is that Eric the Red?
Well, duh, my wife who was also my therapist said.