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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “I wrote this in the dark” Down in the Dirt, v207 (5/23)  Order the paperback book: 
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Bus Route
Rayne Affonso
ear against the window, head vibrating
like a steelpan, in and out of broken sleep
at 6:14am, Guyana’s flag pinned beside
the redblackwhite on the ceiling, my seatmate’s
jazz blaring from his headphones, our thighs grazing
and eyes averted, the driver swearing low and long,
pulling sharply to the left but no one rises,
no pressing of bells, heads swivel to the window
at the sound of a crunch like snapping bones,
like a beast’s grinding teeth, like the branch
you pick for your own punishment, and from the
cracked pitch a bloodied hand reaches up,
women grip their handbags tighter, make the sign
of the cross, watch the hand become forearm become shoulder,
the driver speeding off, everyone cursing in one breath
and praying in the next, I say not a word
as we hurtle towards the city, the gates of Eden
cannot save us from the fields of ghosts forever
