i like riding the bus

not much in the way of public transportation down here though

so i guess i like to remember riding the bus

and the train

there is a small train here

only a few stops

but i enjoy taking it downtown

or up to mockingbird station

not much of a view from the bus

i always tend to stand

let a lady or elderly or child take the seats

hold on to the bar above and sway with the plodding turns

the train has even less of a view

down here at least

depressed urban areas mostly

or the typical business

warehouses and work yards

rusty old trucks driven by men with skin like leather

back home the buses were packed full like cans of sardines

a conglomeration of scents and faces

if you take the bus in dallas it is like that

never rode in ft worth

but i worked on the money sorters in ft worth

they are smack dab in the center of one of the worse spots

homeless roaming

graffiti tags on the walls

feels like home

in those places i feel pressured to keep i belong

a piece of trash mixed in with the rest of society’s garbage

on the train i feel like a weed in a garden of manicured flowers

an errant wisp in a maze of topiary splendor

didn’t much care for the subway in new york

smelled like vomit

and that east coast attitude rubs my midwestern sensibility the wrong way

remember being drunk on the orange line

stoned on the green line

taking the l and hopping a bus

if we were flush with cash maybe a taxi

the beads on the driver seat

no one knows the city like the back of their hand like a cop or a taxi driver

or no one used to

down here it is eight lanes of congestion

every one in oversized trucks belching black smoke into already smog filled skies

or little black and silver foreign cars

all just over compensating for a lack downstairs

if you catch my meaning

i miss hearing people talk to each other

complaining about this and that

now they just glare at each other and yell into phones coming through the stereo

disconnected in an age of connectivity

poisoning the flowers with exhausted fumes instead of stopping to smell them

i miss mass transit

as i sit in my car and go nowhere at snail’s pace

but half the time i had my head phones on

listening to my city’s soundtrack that i carefully curated

being part of a community

not apart from

probably just complain about it if we had it

lugging my tools from site to site

angry faces with no tinted windows to separate them

it’s funny how we want things we can’t have

and hate the things we do

just need a dark bar with a pretty bartender

and a couple shots of whiskey to see me through