The Last Ride

Suddenly finding himself all alone,

the old man stared at his shoes as he

sat hunched over on the cold

cement park bench.

A sleek-backed raven landed

on a nearby lamp post.

He looked up at the bird and commanded:

Say it! Say it!

The bird stared back, mocking with his

black-as-coal eyes.

Nevermore.

Even if he had wanted to,

it was far too late to undo the

damage done so long ago.

Creating two figures on a canvas,

praising his work on one while

attempting to paint over the other.

What was her name?

No matter.

When the sun dove into the sea,

the old man struggled to rise as

the transport silently approached.

Without a sound, the doors opened.

He slowly climbed the stairs,

dropped his soul into the fare box

and took a seat behind the driver.

As the vehicle slowly pulled away,

the old man attempted to engage

him in conversation.

To explain who he was.

His chest puffed out and shoulders

thrown back in undeserved pride.

But the driver merely said:

Where you're going, no one cares.