Three Poems from Stephen J. Golds

The Bus to Nowhere

Spending gathered loose change on Day Tickets. 

Riding the bus in circles around town 

because there was nothing else. No one else.

The Jamaican bus driver always nodded, 

knowing the kid’s face well. 

Part of the Sunday route.

No one else seemed to notice him. The ghost

constantly at the back like the grimy windows, old piss odors and curse word graffiti carved into plastic seats. 

Never pressing the bell just traveling 

through space & time. 

Free for a day. 

Things I’ve Noticed Since 

The bulbs in my apartment seemed brighter. The copper pipes within the walls didn’t hum as much during the early hours. The sound of the alarm clock didn’t make me want to vomit.The train was less crowded in the morning rush hour and the faces there weren’t as ugly. The briefcase was lighter in my clammy hand. 

The working day passed by less painfully. Food tasted like something. Whiskey used to work. 

The crows clustered on the power lines weren’t noisy. My head didn’t ache. The record player didn’t jump as much and words came easier. The night streets were not as deserted nor as wide. 

My muscles didn’t ache as much and I wasn’t so breathless all the time. I didn’t know the way to the hospital or even know the women’s name at the reception desk. 

I know more now

than I want to know. 

She

I was born to love this mistress. 

She’s stood by me my whole life 

the only one 

who never lied. 

Her soft hands to my face.

Loved me since I was a child. 

She wants to kiss my throat with 

Lips of a straight razor and

I want her to.

Her cold hands to my face. 

Too in love with her, 

too sick for her.

Those beautiful empty, 

black eyes look into my mine.

Her skeletal hands to my face 

I was born for her,

to be held by her.

Every single action in my life 

has led me to

taking her warm, darkness 

in my hand & walking together 

into that coma dream night. 

Her dead hands to my face.