Late, as always.
No change, lately.
And Metro Cards don't
exist in this town.
So I schmooze
the old black bus driver,
give her a sure sax smile and a plea,
and she decides to let me on.
I sit in the back
and read a haunting book,
and get lost, not thinking about rent,
only headphones and watching people.
Still scoreless,
I just change seats,
and day dream and write
poems about the beautiful angel bus driver.
I ring the bell
and disembark at the same spot,
the same avenue,
of which I got on.
I thank the bus driver
and ask her to to give the horn
a little honk for me,
she winks and mashes the sucker in the middle of the steering wheel.