Boy Busied by Buses

He likes Spiderman but he's terrified of spiders
He buys the twenty rupee pack of peanuts
On the bus to the valleys beyond the city
The peanut shells are mothers to the peanuts
The dichotomous peanuts are sheltered from the harsh world in their brown housings
Here the boy sits and peels off the shells
Discarding them all in a sheer plastic bag
All dead mothers lying together
He shrugs away the dark thought and tries to focus his mind on the electroacoustic music wafting slowly though this earphones

A portrait of his favourite colours is the desktop wallpaper of his choosing
He's always had an affinity for abstract anonymous art pieces
His mind can't focus and so can't his attention
It's something he's had to forgive himself for feeling

Others around him assume that it's okay
That him having an unstable mind is somehow an acceptable part of who he is
But he doesn't care about the others as much as he cares about himself

Nobody has ever attempted to understand him
Nobody has ever cared

The bus stops suddenly, and he immediately imagines the driver feeling a familiar uncontrollable urge to pee
"But that's my bladder"
He looks towards his damp trousers and realises ten seconds too late

He doesn't like the way that the travelling stranger just looked at him
As if he wasn't human, as if what he just unwittingly did wasn't natural

He clenches his fist and his cheeks redden with rage and shame as he quietly stands up, gets off the bus and watches the curly dark hair of his bare toes stand up sharp because of cold contact with the smooth concrete

A silent drop of blood escapes through his stubbornly tight fist

And again begins his time to wait
The next bus would be here in twenty three minutes

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