Transit haiku

stench of spoiled fruit
formaldehyde bubble gum
drunkard sleeps on train

bus pulls away
riders reach for headphones, books,
slowly disappear

silence is ousted
by loud, brash teenage boasting
the white noise of youth

six-year old fingers
form a garden of flowers
fogged up bus window

cell phone confession
pained, urgent plea, we all cringe
one bus seat away

mom chatters over
toddler’s incessant crying
bus tension rising

kids yelling “car wash”
I feel guilty riding past
even on this bus

the bus home, cluttered
with the urgent daydreams of
sixteen silent riders

the synchronized lurch
of train riders, like reeds
responding to a breeze

bus engine rhythm
stare out the window, searching
for the melody

the evening turns blue
stripes of bright color rush past
crowded subway car

thin strip of bra strap
escaping the scant cover
of snug white tanktop

bus rolls along
we measure the miles by landmarks
this block, that tree, home

rail wheels screech, moan, gnash
film noir soundtrack enlivens
routine ride to work

woman on the bus
carrying flowers and smiles
reminds me of you

hateful words resound
in the confines of the bus
driver, please—faster

crowded bus stop
me, a dozen naked trees
staring up the road

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