I'll NEVER ride the short bus again.

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, August 1, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses

I’ll NEVER ride the short bus again.

Peggy Machowsky was the daughter of an expert demolitionist
who was also a slick businessman on his second set of mistresses
Everyday she had autistic fits, wild tongued, clenching fists
like a riled up Romanian javelin coach on a body riddled Olympic pitch
Experiencing unrest in her predicament ‘cause kids would throw objects
feelin’ pigeon-holed in transportation systems cloaked by city-owned projects
born into a working class family but couldn’t get a viable job
Growin’ up as a genetic outcast in neighborhoods pulsating with violent mobs
invisible signs on her arm worse than a scarlet letter, inscribed with ‘MR’
which stood for Mental Retardant, but all it did was reveal more pain
A mark that was eternally burnt into her skin, not some peel off paint
that people could laugh and gawk at on street corners just to feel more sane
Her father’s demolition work had him blowing up concrete homes
the shards and smoke left the surrounding towns lethargic, choked
but she enjoyed the scent of destruction in a civilization she’d hardly known
Staring out the window of the short bus, watching traffic in it’s morning glow
she began to ponder the savages in Borneo and how they’d treat their young
Or apes in the wild if their offspring had defects, would they exile recent sons?
It was a feat for some if she’d form complete sentences, let alone speak clear
Deformed and petite, far from the norm, diseased, a strange beast, queer
In this dungeon built for her inebriated brain - she’d never know peace here

Did she seek the blue parking space
at the supermarket, or her own phot-
-ography studio in NYC, a new apart
Those dreamscapes were sim-
ply out of reach. It seemed fate had
unintentionally gifted her with ment
-al boundaries
. And as cloudy, gray,
or hopeless as her miserable surrou-
ndings seemed. She’d sit with her le-
-gs crossed, playing with a stick and
listening to sounds of trees in Albany
This was joy with nature, the union
of creation, whether short tree or lo
-ng tree, life treated each length as
a native, with equality, respect, nev-
-er unconditional hatred, but sacred
patience. She needed no wheelchair
attendant nor caped crusader to aw-
ait her; she was almost tempted to
“act her kind” and start spitting in s-
tudent’s contorted faces.
Jump to Monday morn,
Boys from the bus
started marching
and calling her
name. Peggy!
then with
her attention
captured they
jumped on a see-
saw and catapulted
a sizeable rock smack
into her face. Blood started
to drip down from her scalp onto
her forehead, but indifferent to the p-
ain, she bowed her head down in sol-
-emn resentment. The rock was a me-
-ssage of raw insurrection -- her world
didn’t crash down, you see, as it was
already a psychological wreckage. Like
the foundation of a vertical structure
that was bombed, reduced to scrap me-
-tal in seconds. The blow from the rock
took a chunk of her sanity with it, the
disparity sickened, merely adding to t-
-he contempt she had for the human f-
-amily’s image. So she would set out to
create a blueprint for appropriate mend-
-ing of certain cruel human flaws, in wh-
-ich the select perpetrators would honest-
-ly suffer, she’d completely DEMOLISH a
couple, until the ground floor of her mind
was nothing but smoke, bodies & rubble.

She had a special plan for the devilish masses;
Far from what they taught her in the special kid classes
Her eyes red, her hair blotched with matted blood
Peggy was lost, and had enough, she felt sadness, lust
to achieve a suitable vengeance on those bastard punks
Disgusted by their lack of respect she became passionate,
Her dad had to go out of town, but she wasn’t mad at him
It just opened up a few options; she had to take a stab at it
She walked to his warehouse, to find machinery, extravagant
No more short bus… she wielded a mechanical control
No more short bus… the wrecking ball slammed BLAM! into a pole
As long yellow school buses dispersed into the city
like neon centipedes, her classmates bodies started splitting
When suddenly a wrecking ball collided with the side
of the school vehicle - inflictions of pain she desired had arrived
Her brain could see clearly now, if almost for a normal second
A fully conscious, intelligent demolition-woman with a harmful weapon
Peggy watched the regular school bus get sliced in half...
With a classic grin... but alas…
when the deed was done, she was back on the short bus…
…to a mental asylum this time, and she was “handicap” again.

In : Rhymed Verses 

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