Pay as you EXIT

Christmas cookie crumbs
collect unexpectedly
everywhere I come.
Seat cushions
nobody bothers
to inspect
except for me.
They live inside there,
a radioactive need
to breed and feed.
Teeny green emeralds
at the bottom of luck;
They shine like comets
above blue jean lint,
living in those pockets
like the dying race of man.
Peeking out every once
in a while
to check for signs
that life continues to prosper
amongst the ugly fallout
of disaster.

We don’t chew them
or even taste them.
We know they are stale
like the rubber bands
that became gray and broke.
Got rolled up and thrown
outside the window
and chewed up by a truck.

I count some change
and it is just enough.
I normally don’t do this
but somewhere along
this bus ride,
I realized I do not have
enough to pay the fare
and get off at the right

written on 10/11/2010 by: Matt Kane