I was the only one who knew they walked into their tomb
and yet I kept sitting there too.
Me in mine and they in theirs and
still I lingered.
Hard to defy death when it means giving up a soft seat.
A seat smack on the bulge of our demise,
on the hot red
smelly hump of a-moment’s-away combustion,
but I stayed through many bus door snapping shuts
and menacing accelerations,
A baby cried.
But somehow the
tomb declined to
yawn just then
and we stepped alive into the night when it was practical
to do so and breathed the air at our stop.
Then a car almost hit us, and I was
the only one to know
that we almost died twice that night in Chile.