I once entered a fourth-hand public bus (kabukabu) and almost choked out... The result is this piece of poem below-
these beasts of burden
breathe only out. never in.
through nozzles, they exhale
disco fires and black fumes, like lit cigars.
these burdened beasts are just like coffins
with perforated sides
for shrinking lungs of sitting-ones
awaiting the pilot’s final step
on the frictionless brake,
for a final drop-off log,
where the living leftovers again float down
as dead sweating leaves
severed from palsied branches
breathe only out. never in.
through nozzles, they exhale
disco fires and black fumes, like lit cigars.
these burdened beasts are just like coffins
with perforated sides
for shrinking lungs of sitting-ones
awaiting the pilot’s final step
on the frictionless brake,
for a final drop-off log,
where the living leftovers again float down
as dead sweating leaves
severed from palsied branches
our kabukabu buses
(c) Ehizogie Iyeomoan
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