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Voyage of the Super Commuter |
Between the hours
Of Luna and Sol
I suit up and slip out
-quiet-
Like the first "I love you."
I wait at 28th and Adeline,
Not like Armstrong,
But more like Gramma's clothes
On the line
To board
[too bored]
The U.S.S. Golden Gate Transit
Liminal Space Ship--
--"To redundancy and beyond!"
This cabin induces fatigue
And fog, not unlike
The grey Martian moss
Floating outside my
Window. And, even this skyline
Gets reduced to merely a
Slit under the atmospheric pressure of
Sleep. I sleep
Hard and dream
Of urban orbits.
Every stop a
Middle place, a
Third space, a
Fight for a better
Tomor- seat-.
What's more, there's that
Reoccurring
Stranger's face
That sits like
A carbon copy
Mirage, a
Scratch 'n' sniff cardboard
Cutout.
But when we awkwardly
Share a glance
-again-
I see in those eyes,
Framed in shadow and
Exhaustion, eyes
That look too much like
Mine, a canary passenger,
Another cosmonaut,
Floating debris,
me.
copyright 2016
John LaMar
Elison |
