I left work
around 4:00
not finished
with what needed
finishing
but finished,
tired, full
of doubt
rather than
accomplishment.
The days
were stringing
together night
into day
day into
night
and back
again and some
of those hours
were spent
working
and some
writing
and some
just lost
to whatever
and whole
months
of sameness
would go by.
I walked to
the bus stop
and waited
alone. A few
cars passed.
No bus.
It was one
of those gray
days where
the light
never changed
so if I
didn’t know
I’d just
left work
I might not
be sure of
the time.
Of course it
was afternoon
almost evening
but my
working hours
weren’t unlike
sleep
a necessary function
for life
so maybe
I was waking
now, maybe
the day
was just
beginning,
maybe
my mornings
and evenings
were turned
around.
After ten
minutes of
waiting
I decided
to visit
a nearby pub,
the kind
of place
where there
was a line
out front
at 10:00
in the morning
before they opened,
and I entered
thinking
happy hour
there might
sort me out,
might turn
these days
around and I
sat and I
ordered,
tried to
read a bit,
ordered another
but there was
nothing happy
about it
so I paid
left
went outside
where it was
all
still uncertain.
I bought a
six pack
on my way
to the stop
and arrived
just in time
to board
and find
a seat in back
in an oddly
empty bus
for the hour.
It was just after
5:00, evening now,
leaving work
time for those
who stayed
and finished
their work
but they weren’t
here. Maybe they
were still
working. Maybe
they too
couldn’t tell
the time.
The bus moved
forward, stopped
occasionally,
a few got
on, a few got
off, but the numbers
didn’t change
much. I looked
out the window
and the traffic
was light too,
too light,
5:00 in the morning
light just like
the light
of the day,
and we drifted
through the
neighborhoods
turning left
turning right
going straight
again until we
came to my
stop where
the bus
stopped
opened its
doors.
I picked up
my six pack
in its two
plastic bags
and stepped off.
The bus pulled
away and I
stood
for a moment
for no
reason and
a man sitting on
the bench
of the stop
stood up
and wobbled
over to me.
He reeked
of alcohol
was dirty
wore only
jeans and
a tank top
though it
was gray
and cool out.
He had an unlit
cigarette
in one hand
and where he’d
been sitting
there were two
empty 40oz
bottles of
something.
He looked
at the bag
under my arm
and asked,
“Do you know
what time it
is?”
“5:27”
He looked in
both directions
thought
a moment
then asked,
“AM or PM?”
“PM.”
“Oh.”
And he went
back then
to the bench
sat
closed his eyes.
I watched
him for
a moment
but he
didn’t move.
I couldn’t tell
if he was asleep
or thinking
or just closing
his eyes
and hoping
that when
he opened
them everything
would be different
better.
After a moment
I approached
him and left
my six
pack next to
his empties
hoping it,
they,
would help
him sort
it out,
help him
sleep and wake,
help him
get through
the night
and into
a time he
would know.
Dave O’Leary is a writer and musician living in Seattle. He’s had two novels published (The Music Book, Booktrope, 2014 and Horse Bite, Infinitum, 2011) and has had prose and poetry featured in Slate.com, the Portland Book Review, Vamp Cat Magazine, Turnpike Magazine, Line Rider Press, Cajun Mutt Press and others. Both of his novels featured poetry mixed in with the prose, and now he is at work on his first full-length collection of poetry.