Mary Langer Thompson

The Night Love Died

They say panic is common in the path

of an oncoming locomotive,

but Mr. Love didn’t seem rattled.

 

The engineer blew the airhorn,

pulled the emergency,

felt the jolt.

The AM/PM cup

spilled bitterness.

Time met Love near Third Street.

Now Love is timeless.

What was he doing on that track?

Did intoxicated Love conquer anything?

 

It was not reported how long the train was delayed.

There’s a Whole World on a Bus 

 

Is that you, Frida, on the far right,

dignified, yet free as wind blowing

the scarf around your neck,

next to the prosperous man

clutching his money bag,

next to the boy enjoying the scenery

of the Mexican streets,

next to his breastfeeding mother

staring adoringly at the baby,

a child you’d never have,

next to the worker in coveralls

grasping the handrail that would pierce you 

in the streetcar collision 

that would rip off your dress

and leave your nude body

covered with blood and powdered gold

from an unseen housepainter

before you proved you would endure

and paint even while dying?

There’s a whole world on a bus.  

L. A. Uber Angel

Where to, Sir? She purred sweetly, discreetly

my feet entering the seat behind her copper tresses

her caresses on the wheel distracting

my reacting to her logical question.

Home, I countered, and gave the address

without finesse, just tiredly, sadly, feeling stressed, 

a tad mad she’d taken so long to come along,

dread from being fired still in my brain

drained from leaving after all these years.

She turned her pouty lips and stepped on the gas,

past the corner Seven-Eleven, racing past homeless Kevin,

humming like someone directly from heaven.

We arrived in my driveway and she said, stay put,

although my foot was halfway out the door.

A little sore I slid back into my seat

while she got out and went to the trunk.

 

I thought I just want to get drunk, please hurry,

as she scurried and pulled out a soft black briefcase,

a trace of perfume looming when she lay it on the seat

and opened it, displaying vials of liquid.

She grabbed one, undid the lid, and poured something 

on two fingers and then zap! She tapped me between the eyes, 

and I felt transformed, really, I don’t tell lies. 

So I quietly paid her and she said, 

I know your name,

and it means Blessed by God.

I quickly Googled, and by God it did.

Who are you? I asked,

and she smiled and said, Who do you think I am?

I think I’ve found me an angel, I replied, again no lie.

That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,

she sang as she danced her way back to the driver’s seat.

I felt anointed, not disappointed, as she drove away down my sweet street.