day ONE HUNDRED and FIFTY SEVEN

poem to the lady who made

two pregnant women stand on the evening bus

we are all tired

packed like sardines on this bus

and if in a society that actually valued

the hard work of its citizenry

maybe none of this would be

but all of the other people sitting around us

are eighty years old…if they’re lucky

but you, you look younger than me

sitting there yelling into your cell phone

with your chalkboard scratched, nicotine voice

all about how hot tim at the office thinks you are

girl, maybe you really do

have to beat them away with a stick

but there are two, count them, TWO pregnant woman

standing right in front of your dumb ass

holding the top of a bus pole

they’re practically on the tip of their toes to reach

one of them looks sweaty and sick

the other actually has her belly in your face

and what did you do?

you looked up at the women and scowled

like they’d taken turns spitting in that bag of cheetos you’re inhaling

glowering your injustice at such peasants

what would romeo at work think?

would he still find you so hot?

you gum chomping bag of gas with no morality

or maybe he’s just like you

and that’s part of the attraction

two self-involved assholes spinning cordial society into the dirt

kicking old people and tripping the blind for sport

what incredible kids the two of you will make

i’d say this is beyond audacity

but in some sick way i’m actually impressed

cruelty can be an art form

and this evening you perfected it, babe

so keep talking

keep slapping your knee

just like the ugly little port authority queen you are

sit there howling at the moon

as two septuagenarians give up their seats

for the women

keep on making america great for scum like you

you fucking bitch.            

--John Grochalski