The hopeless case
A holy grail
The codependent swoon

The eldest child
A married man
Guitarist and a spoon

With cactus dreams
A westbound bus
No quarter left to find

The optimist
Believes in “us”
But what us will I find?

Note: This was written in response to today’s Daily Post prompt, Trace. I’ve always really enjoyed bus upholstery. The first time I saw brightly colored bus upholstery was on a very nice shuttle bus in London, when I was 17. My dad’s an upholsterer, so little details like that always give me a thrill. It’s a strange life, but someone has to exist in it, right? Anyway, this poem is about being alone, and how the people we’ve left – and who have left us – are still there, just under the skin. We’re just distracting ourselves with the superficial patterns, to avoid paying attention.