The Beast – A Boston Poem

The salt and sand,

your stomach acid.

Churning, crunching,

your mouth opens slow

(You monster)

a gaping maw that devours

people.

Whole.

Your stomach lining is cold,

covered in a thick plastic,

green-grey

speckled with phlegm

and age spots.

Yellow and black nerves,

bright against your flesh,

trickle, drip downward.

I want to press one,

see what you’ll do.

But I’m too content,

(warm air seeps in)

the caverns and pits

here are snuggly and

perfect

for my body

to sit here and decay.

I hear something lick you

from the outside,

a cattle prod of lightning,

making your muscles

squeeze, shift, spasm

into motion.

I am thrown sideways in your

indigestional turbulence.

Hoping you

will void me soon,

that it will be over.

I will stop clinging

to your innards,

(a parasite).

My skin will burn,

rubbed raw by the acidic grains.

My joints, my knee caps,

will buckle and grind.

My ears will pop and bleed,

and I will hear

“Thank you for riding the T.”