Song of the Trolleyman

The old Filipino men
Of Mac Arthurs’s song:
I will return, I’ll be back,
Their ball caps proud.
Or wait for the next bus,
If too large a crowd.
A Gemini refrain:
Girls, these buses are like men
In life;
Don’t worry,
There’s always another one coming along! “Hey, that ‘music is too loud!
Turn it down!”
With a trolley man’s frown—
Stare, actually,
The moonie, stone face
Reaching that far-off place
We go to ... we go
To return to sane,
To alleviate the pain
Of a thousand greasy wheels,
Of a thousand scratchy windows

Of a thousand aimless fluids Transmuted by a thousand asses Sitting on a thousand dirty seats.
I sing the song of the Trolley Man.

I sing the song of the Trolley Man.

Oh, you got your

Sunflower seeds

On the floor

By the door.

Cigarette butts,

Bubble gums wrapped,

A transfer in a thousand dirty pieces,

A day pass, Golden Arches remnants,

Taco Bell, dipping dot hell,

Coffee cups, coffee lids, coffee stirrers,

Needle bent, Condom spent,

Tiny zip-lock bags once containing

A fifteen-year relapse.

To keep the tweak (or)

The wake up (for),

To keep the freak At Bay

(Or) The Marina

(Or) The Trans bay

(Or) The Ferry Plaza”

“(Or) Wherever, whenever the hell

They go.

Like cockroaches when the lights come on.

I see all, give a ride

To all.

I am the Trolley Man.