Southern Gothic Online

Ray Davies Was My Bus Driver

by Kelle Groom

ray davies was my bus driver, & when the door slid open, i pushed
past his black coat to get off first, then apologized to his politeness,
the long bones

he asked for directions to charlie's oyster bar, & i pointed down
the sidewalk, walked into the arcade, empty, not one machine,
so i went to the bar, & saw ray leaving, head nodding, smile, i put
my chin down on a round table & wanted to sleep, but couldn't
get my wallet into my black zippered purse, olivia newton-john
trembled in the weak speakers, syruping my muscles

when a kid from school brought me homemade valentines in a manila
envelope, the outside pasted with hearts for other girls, carly
was one, but inside were 5 or 6 all swirling "k," scalloping, scissor-
cut mouths & petals, & i knew he'd have to stop this, this niceness,
his dark hair beautiful, sitting so close his khaki folds touched
my bareness between knee and thigh, he tried tucking my hair under
his green corduroy cap, it kept spilling

in the dark bar, my fingertips moved quietly under his clothes,
his body hiding my macrame, but if he didn't stop this, this love stare,
this open-handed adoration, my skin knew we'd have sex right
there in that chair

then he disappeared
& i sat across a 2-top listening to a boy sweet as easter: the dinner
& basket, painted eggs, candy corn, too much chocolate, the bunny
bites always hollow inside, so you'd eat & eat, never satisfied

he said we can't do this anymore because i've been late to work
at the 7-11, three days in a row, they were docking my time card
in ink, & because of jesus christ, i just nodded & smiled, i mean
this wasn't the same guy, & jesus would wish me bags of valentines

we left out the back where the cars parked in a forest, but i ended
up walking with acquaintance women who said i'd have to learn
to pump gas into the right car, & be on time for work

i skipped up the dark street, fast, away, & peggy lipton's ex-
husband side-swiped me, i actually had to push the fender away
from my waist, my feet, he swerved into the middle lane, &
almost hit a small comma traveling fast

he thought it was my fault, but apologized, gave me a ride
down a brilliant stone highway

© 2005 Kelle Groom

Kelle Groom lives in Orlando and was raised in Massachusetts, Hawaii, Texas, Spain, and Florida. Her poems have appeared in AGNI Online, Crab Orchard Review, DIAGRAM, Florida Review, The New Yorker, Witness and elsewhere. Her collections of poems are Underwater City (University Press of Florida 2004) and Luckily (Anhinga Press 2006).