poems, prose and
other pretty words
© 2010-2014
Chel Mercado

                        Next to the empty seat on the bus

 She carried a bible
  i'm not going to lie
and asked what i believe.
  i don't want to be here

She smelled like fake flowers.
i felt my nostrils ache.

Lifted my cup again
   the scent was my savior 
and sipped the hot liquid.
   burned like heaven or hell

	I think I worship tea.

Watched her eyes narrow then.
i attempted a smile.
	"You put your faith in... tea?"
Glaring, she thrust a small
pamphlet in front of me.
Opened my mouth slightly
but only looked away.

Reluctant, i took her
garbage can refugee.

    i don't want to be here.  
The bottom of my cup-
    i'm not going to lie- 
i think i found God there.