Spike

His name is "Spike" the hardware-man said as he rang me up on his till
He had speared his friend, a fellow succulent only that morning as well

Spike was a cactus I saw on the street while I contemplated buying shoes
I knew he was mine when my eyes laid on him, I knew together we'd never lose

And so I carried him on the bus, from Haight to downtown SF
From there I took him into a coffee shop, and hid him under the desk

From the shop to the bathroom, and then to the Court, and even into a bar
He patiently waited while I played pool (I won by a fluke, it was gnar)

Finally it was time to take him home, to flourish next to his soon-to-be-friend plants
But as we descended into the gloom, Montgomery station proved stuffed as a fat man's pants

We nervously chuckled and waited for BART to alleviate the obscured tunnel
And as the next train rolled to a stop, we smooshed through doorways that acted as funnels

As the car packed fuller, full to the brim, the more and more panicked I got
I held Spike closer, and whispered to him, "this was a bad idea that we wrought"

As patrons of transit squished towards us, I cringed as bodies grew near
I said more than once, "I'm holding a cactus!" and people's faces turned in fear

Stop after stop (and even the tube) I sweated, vowing to impale myself first should need be
Finally MacArthur loomed towards us, and in a breath of fresh air we were free.