BUS
Crowded, shoved, groped, jostling,
We the cattle being moved
meekly avoid the dignity of eye contact
due to the indignity of transport
via a network of stops, stations, and lines
that exist to serve us —
To what?
We the cattle call ourselves the apex,
thinking we commute to put food
on our plates, and that we
are not plated,
But why then are we doing
things we do not want to do
to eat, and earn these barns and trailers?
This is not self-condemnation.
Realization is always powerful —
it can catalyze not only a flurry of feelings
but total transformation.
A transformation either forwards or back,
and cattle came from the mighty Aurochs.
Have you ever seen a bull up-close,
the rippling muscles and tendons of rebellion,
the damage it can do?
Your soul seeks to escape
through booze,
You are rattling the bars of these cages,
your little rebellion,
politely quieted,
and so, in that quiet,
let your arms and legs at least rest,
For now;
They are needed to fight, aren’t they? — And fight
We all should,
the tired and furious
passengers of the world.
--David Pring-Mill
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