Conversations With Bus Drivers Poem by Bianca Fiechter

O2 whirlpools in
(maybe once a breath you left)
Invisible tour bus in my brain
Rolling bumping through my lungs
(we’ve got four wheel drive you know)
Somehow off track
(this air, this bus)
Lost
(no map for this territory)
Alone-together we wander.

Accusing glares for the guide
As he takes a right
(Instead of a left.)
All of this energy
Hopelessly mired
Behind my diaphragm.
Oh how my body
Wishes to exhale
This lost cloud trapped.
This tingle, this pressure
(like having to pee)
This aching need
(chocolate…. chocolate…. chocolate)

How can I explain?
It creeps
Ever upward, this bulging, swollen
Lump in my throat
(don’t you dare cry)
Raising hairs on my neck.

I stifle the urge-
You know the one
(I’m not paranoid)
To turn my head
(just a peek)
So sure you are there
(watching watching)
Resist it! Resist it!
I scold on the inside
(so I don’t look crazy on the outside)

Weakness wins
(VICTORY! !)
A motion so subtle
No.
Of course you aren’t there
(what was I thinking?)

I was thinking that,
You might be....
A wall of flesh
A down pillow
To fall into
My own personal Stargate
(such a geek)

Your black hole gravity
Leaves me here stripped
Heavy, motionless
Plastered to memory
(or is IT plastered to ME?)