Abracadabra

The man on the bus
Keeps staring at me from his seat up front
Conspicuously turned around
No one else notices
It’s a vehicle filled with ghosts and stooges
All of us forgeries
This guy has problems
Let him have them
I stare out a dirty window at a city steaming in sunshine
After an earlier thunder storm
Diamonds in the asphalt glittering
Wisps of vapor snaking away like anorexic genies
That’s how my life is sometimes
A slow smolder
All the ancient stuff igniting while I
Try telling myself that my childhood was an aberration
Or I’m just exaggerating
It wasn’t that bad
Couldn’t have been
No way
Not in a million years
But I’m on my way to see you
And that’s what counts
You with your open arms
And ready ear
You who’s seen every scar
Even my hidden heart scars
As we round 82nd street
I look up front
But the guy is gone
Maybe he was never there to begin with
Maybe I can finally let go of the baggage
Stare it down
Blink it away
Abracadabra
Sure enough
Look
There you are
On the corner waving
As if I’m home from some war
And I’m the only person you want to see at this moment
What a feeling that is
Like being lifted on shoulders and carried triumphantly
Through a cheering crowd
Pardoned from shame
As free as air

Len Kuntz is a writer from Seattle, Washington.  His story collection, The Dark Sunshine debuted last year from Connotation Press and his next collection, I’m Not Supposed to Be Here And Neither Are You is forthcoming from Aqueous Books in April.  You can also find him at lenkuntz.blogspot.com