Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Night Ride on the M103 Bus

Woman missing teeth chews green gum;
she’s wearing a red ski cap.

“65th St. next.”
Unintelligible message from mission control:
trains out of service,
shuttles in place.


An ancient “have-not”, holds onto what he has:
worn brown paper bag, creased like the backs of
his hands.

“72nd St.”

Cellphone Hebrew, in the back,
couple Hindi in the middle.

“75th St. next.”

An Aussie hat and a
Back strapped guitar.
Cowboy boots.


Burberry trench coat, Gucci loafers:
an important frown hanging
over his Blackberry.


New boots
Old boots
Ballet flats.


smells of surreptitiously
swallowed dinners fill the bus:
French fries
something with curry.

“86th St.”

Yellow cab cut off
Horn blow—
Brake slam
Garbage truck splash

“88th “
“back door please.”

Wankel’s windows already
covered in Christmas;
thick gray sweater tugged tight,
I hoist my backpack
grab my groceries
and take the
short cold walk home.

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