Where are all these lives going?
Passing here and there before me, some slow, others fast —
To their free and fanciful futures
Or to their pernicious, parochial pasts?
Do their glove compartments serendipitously spill
With keepsakes; marring memories from their forged, former lives?
Used packets; trash, unopened maps from untaken adventures dreamed,
Or do they remain unoccupied and hollow
with passengers stagnant, unwilling to live?