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poem 26 – 2-15-15
WHEN I WAS 25 I DIED
the plump man with the sun-dried tomato face
lurched his way towards the back of the bus
he clasped his 211 steel reserve tall can
and sat across from me
i was engrossed
he radiated realism
he didn’t conceal his alcohol like i used to
there was no brown bag of dismal
his soul case was worn out
it looked like it had gone to war
daily bread was his constant battle
our eyes met
mine were curious and his were warm
the man said, “hello, how are you? how’s your day going?”
with a smile
“good…i’m okay,” i said
“how are you?” i asked
“my body is tired but my mind is young”
with two fingers pressed on his temple
“i’m old,” he added
now that introductions were given
the plump man did not waste time
and went on to tell me about when
his motorbike collided with an automobile
“i woke up to ambulances and a heliocopter!”
he said this in a tone that rang with a tinge of appreciation
“they had to…” he said
as he motioned
defibrillation
he was spewing saliva everywhere
he had excitement
an elation with life
i wish i had
could not be contained
he said, “there was light, i tried to walk into it
but it didn’t let me in, it wasn’t my time yet.”
“i was 25.
i was dead.”
he paused to catch his breath
“when i was 25 i died”
i pulled the cord
perfect timing
i thought
it was my stop
i said my goodbye
DYLAN DOREN 