Sunday, March 22, 2009

The Day the Girl in the Fugly Blue Coat Swiped My Seat

She looked preggers, but
moved too fast to be one of those 
banged-up chicks.
her husband
looked like a child-hater/molester

She was reading a NY Times that was a day old,
like her hair.
Her voice was the sound a car makes
before dying.

Somehow, this gravid harpy slid into the orange seat
that I was hovering above,
mere seconds before I was able to rightfully take it
as my own. 


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