the biggest lies we tell are to ourselves
Today’s performance: the East Street line. To my surprise, it’s running on time.
Recent protests and a show of force; peace-out my peeps, the truth is worse.
Back of the bus and sit on the EDGE, or flash the driver my courier’s BADGE.
EDGE: My medical case, a treasure chest to conniving eyes I’d have to pass.
BADGE: Plexiglass cage behind the driver, a seat some call The Lone Survivor. Its own side exit, if that need be, installed for those transporting vaccine.
The driver asks if I am a DECOY. That kind of question I’d rather AVOID.
DECOY: Driver leans forward, desperate to hear. A blank expression’s my only answer.
AVOID: The trials fail, it mutates again. I’m holding out hope of holding hope in. This isn’t a run as much as parade, couriers dispatched and put on display.
The driver pulls over, a wall to the side. I’ll take that case, now you don’t mind.
Open the door, hand over the CASE. or stay in place, keep silent and WAIT.
CASE: Riders turn rioters, that’s why this cage; hard-learned lessons of past rampage.
WAIT: ‘Last warning,’ mace can pressed to door, ‘my family is ill, can’t take any more.’ We’re all afraid, I start to explain. ‘Don’t gimmie that crap’a feel my pain.’
Trigger the case and hand it OVER or ignore the threat and feign COMPOSURE.
OVER: A ruse of force as empty as the case, blue dye would envelop the driver’s face.
COMPOSURE: Silence on silence, the driver retreats; the bus starts moving and plea repeats.
Keep up the pretence some greater GOOD or admit the truth that you MISUNDERSTOOD.
GOOD: A tool for others, mongers of hope, riding for show, a placebo to cope.
MISUNDERSTOOD: I see the strength of your compassion, the devil we know is less than imagined.
