aftermath

took a seat near the rear of the 32 route, shoes still damp from the dew on the curb

mood brewed low from a brutal view that skewed my the whole afternoon, the dude two rows up kept scrollin’ through news

and the fumes from his food were abusive, like tuna with blue cheese and some lukewarm stew

refused to include in my usual thought loops, a rude manager, two texts and a clue that I’m due for a change

not just new shoes or a few days away, but somethin that proves i’m not glued to what i grew into

truthfully, this bus seat is the only booth I’ve had lately where I process the truth

with a passion that’s practically patent, with the ladder and cash in, slappin your fandom back to the attic

you’re panickin, actin like grapplin hands from a match just snatched at your jacket and fractured yo ass again

snapped in the fashion of Bas Rutten laughin in back of the van with a cam that captured the aftermath

slappin you flat and i’m smashin your stance while you’re standin in half of a track

that collapsed like a nasa pad, back at the lab with a can of the gas they hand out at demolition matches

handle it like after a fast collapse in a half lit alley, draggin a trash can packed with the ashes of rappers

who yapped at the wrong one and vanished, i’m dashin’ through brackets with accuracy fast as McNabb passing

bashin you while you’re flashin your shit like it’s magic, you crashin, i’m blastin through plasticky tracks

i’m back and I’m badder than battles in backyards with batons and jackets of black and red flannel

i’m jackin’ your traction like amazon snatchin the package before you could unwrap it and brag again

the second I hover you stutter and buckle, your cover gets smothered, you clutter your punches with nothing but mumbles

constructed like bunkers, i’m double the pressure, your number is up and i’m lungin’ for lunch with a custom agenda

your function’s bug ridden, i crush it like plumbers with rusted equipment, you struggle to muster a gust of momentum

i’m thumpin through bundles of diction and uppercuts pumpin your structure, i’m uppin’ the budget

a buffer that ruptures your comfort, i’m thuggin like Butcher, pushin’ a button to summon destruction

jug after jug like a flood, i’m subtle as sucker punches in public, you’re stumblin, juggle a couple of knuckles

i’m flushin your plug with a plunger from Home Depot, I’m the whole depot, unloading the function

and dumpin the junk you constructed with duct tape, strolled through the lot with a tote from trader joe’s

and a note folded inside that quoted an old voicemail about exposure to mold spores

cold shoulders from checkout folk, motion sensors broke so the doors stayed closed

holes near the shoulders but I rolled with it solo, headphones low, caught my reflection in a soda machine

below the no refunds sign, folded receipts from Cold Stone creamery poking out

like a confessional in slow motion, motioned for the uber but the road was closed

went for the metro, phone at 4%, no charger, and i’m told by folks that the road home ain’t shown on the normal route

pouring soda into cups that overflowed, and it showed, shoulder cold, forehead against the remote control