thrown under the bus

good luck, she says in her note
and card,
take care of yourself,
bye bye, she says
and waves before pushing
me out the door.
I roll under the bus,
the wheels crushing
me flatter than a flap jack
at I hop
on a sunday morning.
see ya, don't want to be ya.
adios.
don't let the door hit you
on the way out. I brush my self
off as I get up.
rebutton my torn coat,
find a stick to brace
my broken leg, then
wipe the blood off my face.
oh well, I say, looking down
that long empty road,
here we go again, then put
my thumb out.