Inscape 04 FINAL - Pasadena City College
Inscape 04 FINAL - Pasadena City College
Inscape 04 FINAL - Pasadena City College
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M ISS C HOCKIE<br />
In Response to Returning:<br />
If you were many men,<br />
You’d be some name<br />
Easier to forget than the last,<br />
Some impassive grunt<br />
Another stain on the duvet<br />
If you were many men<br />
You wouldn’t have to find me<br />
Most nights<br />
Nor kidnap me to get some<br />
Time all to yourself<br />
If you were many men<br />
I wouldn’t call<br />
More than once a week<br />
You couldn’t wear my resentment<br />
Like a coveted prize<br />
If you were many men<br />
I wouldn’t ever find my way home<br />
You wouldn’t be waiting<br />
When the bars close<br />
For me to stumble up the stairs<br />
If you were many men<br />
I wouldn’t be here<br />
Would I?<br />
Mr. RTD<br />
Y O LANDA R UIZ-LEON<br />
Itook the usual bus to school, making a stop<br />
at the mall. English class sucked, and I<br />
didn’t want to go. Pathetic losers like me<br />
shuffled their way on the bus. Young punks and<br />
old farts came in with various clothes and various<br />
smells. I felt older than my 22 years, and<br />
I was so happy the bus was crowded.<br />
I sighed loudly in disgust and looked out<br />
the window. Standing out like a sore thumb from<br />
the tired masses was a scrawny, nervous looking<br />
white guy. His face was pale and clammy, his<br />
greasy jet-black hair was parted to the side.<br />
The vintage 1970s brown suit he wore was two<br />
sizes too large.<br />
Something about him made me uncomfortable.<br />
Maybe it was the way he paced back and forth at<br />
the bus stop. Maybe his bus was late. Clutching<br />
his tan briefcase tightly, the knuckles on his<br />
right hand were white. He constantly checked<br />
his watch.<br />
I looked closer. The gold nametag on his<br />
left lapel was titled “Mr. RTD.”<br />
He stared at me blankly. I looked at him<br />
stupidly. My bus took off, leaving him alone at<br />
the stop.<br />
For the rest of the week, I couldn’t stop<br />
thinking about him. Who was he? Why was he<br />
named “Mr. RTD”? Was it the name of the bus system,<br />
or his initials? What was he carrying in<br />
that briefcase? I rode various bus routes that<br />
week to look for him, since I had no life beyond<br />
school. He wasn’t around.<br />
The next week, my hopes were fading when<br />
I saw him again. I was in the same bus at the<br />
same time as before. He boarded the bus.<br />
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