i ride buses
going to and fro the lights
reminiscing, undercurrents etched in cinder block wood
hazy; whether or not those were happy times
its not too cold
maybe i should skip to the other one
but diesel fuel needs a few more minutes
to pick up its momentum
and now i glide from various vantage points
unsure and i lack courage to sit alone
now sandwiched between the window and chance passengers
forced to recall inches beneath the waist
bullied by bodies refusing to move and give space
maybe if i said "excuse me" i'll be able to alight
i wont go home on foot though