DEMENTIA BUS

by Russell Streur

Saint Hedwig prays
Bare knees in snow
Washes the feet of lepers
Sleeps on the ground
And it’s a normal afternoon
In the dead of winter
With the bells of her church
Ringing every hour
On Humboldt Avenue
Wednesday when
Rhonda steps off the Dementia Bus
And takes her usual seat
In the palest of sunlight at Annie’s Place.
I have always wanted,she says, to turn my body into shrapnel
and knock on the doors of heaven with the skulls of my enemies.
So tossing back
One last suicide belt
She detonates herself,
Naming that tune:
Happy Hour,
On Real Cold Ice.