-A short ride for Manuel-

Manuel’s getting old.

It was first noticed at the joints of his bones
Then everywhere else soon after.

Today he boards the city bus at the corner of Sixth & Main.

It’s only three steps up to where the driver sits,

but the first step tires his knees for the rest of the climb.

Manuel pays his fare in pocket change and enjoys the metallic

Sounds as the free-standing contraption pings and clicks

Sorting the dropped coins into progressive denominations.

Manuel walks the narrow aisle weaving laterally as the bus departs,

Deciding on a window seat facing the river.

This is the seat where his father dies. "Spare the rod spoil the child"

His mother dies in this seat, too. "A saint" the mourners told him.

Manuel's three kids are born in this seat facing the river.

The first, a constant victim; two others follow who one day

"Won't amount to nothin' ".
Half-way through the journey he again meets his young bride

Who spends her final years in the presence of his cruel silence.

Manuel steps-off at Twelfth & Main, bending the kinks of his knees

As the bus departs with Manuel crossing Main into the pungent exhaust,

Anticipating another life-affirming haircut.