The Commuters of the Dead commute. They are victims of forever clauses in their business contracts that force them to work after death. They have risen from their graves, still trying to fulfill their duties and make Christmas bonus. Little do they know that once their expiry date is up their functionality drops quicker than the edibility of day-old California rolls. Still they make the effort, and the effort consumes them. They live for the commute, meditate on the meaning of death during gridlock, practice Kegel exercises while stuck on the 401. The weather is hot this time of year, and the Commuters of the Dead start to stink and run up the air-con so they don’t offend the Carpoolers of the Living.
Watch your back around the Commuters of the Dead. They will do anything to get ahead. Identifying factor, no one but two Venti Starbucks coffee cups in hand. Be sure to pepper your conversation with to die for brunch spots and shiny metal gadgets useful for multitasking otherwise their attention will stray from your rant about unanswerable existential questions to the sweet smell of brains.
• Poetry • Julian Gobert • link •