Five girls in private school uniforms
in the back of the Carleton car, eating
fried chicken from a cardboard box:
with
manicured fingers they lift the legs
to their lipsticked mouths & tear the
juicy meat away. The smell of chicken
permeates the streetcar
I hunch down
in my seat, riding the car to nowhere
in particular, to do nothing in particular,
mentally dividing my welfare cheque into
boxes of chicken
Madness will do this to you
& doing nothing & no money & no women, all
of this will do it to you
& the girls giggle
& make jokes about the boys in school. They
leave great pieces of flesh still on the
bones & toss them back into the box, among
greasy french fries & uneaten coleslaw
At a
stop I do not recognize, I leave the
streetcar to wait for another going in
whatever direction.