Passing Passengers on the 409
As I await my bus, I and the others, next to us
The bus pulls in from whose windows faces
Blank at us stare as if we was not there
Heading to their places
The bus pulls away, I on my own way
On my own now as those who with me had stood
Stood on the step on the bus that pulled in beside us
As in time, a short time, my bus would
Picking me up to bring me there, until where
I will sit staring out windows at those
At others stops we drive by and stop
Rushing to their own busy lives I suppose:
Buses are but numbers, go where their drivers say…
Our bosses are our drivers: we are buses in our own way…
