River of Vomit

It began with the sweet heat
held by the bustling bus.
The simplicity of one--
one bus,
one temperature,
one windy pair of yellow lines,
one open mouth.

But the one puddle grew limbs
and crawled onward,
searching for souls
like a baby seeking to suckle.
Souls it found.
Souls it perturbed.
And one became two.
Puddle became creek.
Runny, chunky, slurry, slimy creek
that slithered stealthily
to unsuspecting Toms.

And two became three,
became too many
to keep track of pleasantly.
Creek became river.
Sloshing up and down,
back and forth,
it consumed the isle.

As the dismal vehicle
crept up a steep incline,
the river flooded
the back-seat swimmers--
needless to say,
they are no longer kickin' it.
What goes down
must go back up--
the primary issue of the atrocity.
The front-seat riders met a similar
drowning sensation.

Though blood and bone
are found not here,
the scattered trachea
never stood a chance
once the river swelled
and penetrated every
mouth, nose, belly button, and lung.
Filled with chunks
and replete with the foulest aroma,
the human body succumbed
to nature's poignant river.

Here lies one bus,
one temperature,
one pair of windy yellow lines,
too many open mouths
for the coroner to record pleasantly;
And here flows one river.