THIS CIRCUS IS
REALLY A FUNERAL
And the pyre shall sputter its
embers forever : well the weather
where the wind is greedy. Buses
are running sideways with little
heads within them. Little lights
illumine little heads . This is an
all-night ride to Ohio again; no
turns, no stops, until Pittsburgh.
-
And I stretch my palms outward,
with sort of a backwards turn of
my hand; it takes some space that's
mot really mine, but the lady next
to me smiles. She doesn't mind. I
wonder if they do these trips in the
daylight too. Certainly there's
more to see.
-
And thirty years ago, as I recall,
on a bus such as this you could
always find a cast-off newspaper
or something else to read. Not
now. These goofballs all stare
at phones. I wonder with whom
they communicate? With those
where they've been, or with
those where they're going?
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