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Strawberry Cucumber Chicken

I rummaged through my backpack,
saffron lights gleaming brilliantly
pale highlighted edges of steps
a grumpy figure blocking my pathway
I reached for my wallet
and handed him two bills and a coin

My bag clung on the cold metal stairs
a loud echo tumbled along
but no one seemed bothered.
Rivers of words flowed clumsily
through the dimness of the air,
heavily clogged with jaded noise.
I squinted at the eerie purple glow
and dragged my bag across
as it bumped and vibrated.

Searching for a seat,
seats that feel like carpets
carpets that give severe rug-burn.
There was only one seat left:
squished between a family of five
jam-packed on two seats
and a young couple
who were not so pleased to see me.

I wanted to sit at the window.
I wanted the wind to blow onto my hair.
It was too late.

I rummaged through my backpack
for my treasured earphones.
I knew this day will come
I dreaded this always.
I could not find my earphones
This promised to be one hell of a ride.

Bobo, Lelo, Titi
the man called his little children,
children is an over-exaggeration,
they were brats
whinny little brats.
Were these their real names?
I wondered
their parents looked stupid enough
to name them Batman and piglet.

Titi kept looking at me
concentrating on my every move
as I tweeted my horrible fate
for all to know
I hate kids
I thought to myself
as I glared at her beady little eyes
to wipe the grin of her face.

The little one glued his head to the window
as if the window tasted like chicken,
chicken is my favourite
but maybe he thought it was chocolate
as he licked the glass
and smeared saliva with his lips.

The mother noticed her son's wrongdoing
and detached him from the window.
He screamed loudly
she tried calm him down.
She is as stupid as he is:
she does not yell at him,
she does not spank her kids,
she does not even intimidate,
he manipulates her,
she is his slave.

I blame her
for everything wrong in this world.
I blame her bad parenting
for the corruption
for the economic crisis
for world hunger

The kid did not stop crying,
all three kids started whining
they got bored,
the passengers cranky
judging eyes rolling.

On the other side of the bench
the girl and her boyfriend were irritated
I could feel her urge
to bitchslap the spoiled monsters.
She cannot concentrate
on the nail pollish she was applying
red nail pollish
not classy red
not even a decent shade of red;
the red was slutty
Moulin Rouge whore-house red.
It was as cheap as her hair-do
Donuld trump wants his hair back
I thought.

Shorty, no noise was had
I look over to my right
the little rascals are munching on cucumbers
the musky smell wafts throughout
mixed with industrial nail polish odour.
The air smelled like strawberries,
strawberries are my favourite
I could not complain
but maybe it was chocolate.

Soon the whining recommenced,
I was doomed to this fate
Why didn't I wait
for the next bus to come?
Why did I have to forget
my earphones this time?

I rummaged through my backpack
in hopes of finding what I wanted
but I could not find what was not there.

I stared out the distant window
the traffic was not moving
red lights from cars kissed
yellow light from street lamps.

A sound of music tickled me.
An old lady in front of me,
she had an iPod
the volume turned up full.
I was purple with envy
or was is the purple from the lamps?
Why do old people need iPods anyway?

I closed my eyes
to escape the misery,
the noise was quiet
the darkness was bright.
The next thing I remember
were the cold metal stairs
on my way out.