The black nite slides by as the bus rolls through the Central Valley.
 
I think Lucky is asleep.
 
Bus less then half full.  She and I spread over the last seats at the back.
 
Lucky says to me, before we take a rest at Coalinga.
 
“Tell me a story.”
 
She not asleep.  
 
“You awake?”
 
“I am.”
 
“What kinda story?”
 
“Earliest memory,”  with a purr in her voice.
 
“K.  Must been around kindygraden.  Right before.”
 
“Far back as you go?”
 
“I have a bunch of early mems but I don’t know for sure which one comes 1st.”
 
“Ok”
 
“So it’s around kindygraden, right before I enter the system.”

“Yeah.”
 
“I come in from outside.  Dirty.”
 
“All little boy.”
 
“Zckly.”
 
“I get moms floor covered in mud or grass clippings, whatever.”
 
“no.”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“then what?”
 
“Moms go apeshit.  Throw me down.  Screaming, cursing.”
 
“Yikes.”
 
“I’m terrified.”
 
“Poor little thing.”
 
“She goes in other room, grabs my favorite toy, can’t recall what it was, firetruck or somethiing.  Bring it back, stomp it to bits as I watch.  ‘That’ll teach you do get muck on my kitchen floor’ she scream.”
 
Lucky is silent.  The bus driver gets on the horn and announces a rest stop coming up at the BK off the 5 in Coalinga.
 
“Why she do that?”  Thinks Lucky out loud.  Inky nite goes on sliding by the window.
 
“Gotta know, bout my mom?  She a tweaker, a middle class one.  Scrips for Dexies, Bennies, fedrine, whatever, for her asthama.”
 
“She goes on cleaning binges.  Get her whole house just so.”  says Lucky.
 
“Like that.”
 
“And you the little turd in the punch bowl.”
 
I want to answer but can’t cause something stuck in my throat.
 
Lucky gets closer to me.  Almost two people being in one place at one time.
 
“I never, ever do that to you, I promise.”
 
I want to beleive her, I so do.  
 
With all my heart and soul.

— Pete Moss 

Eye On Life Poetry Contest 2010-2011 Honorable Mentions