Going Home, 2009

I. Getting There

I. Two-oh-five in the afternoon

After a casual lunch I pull my case
to choruses of clicks across the street:
the empty bus stop says what words cannot.
Faced with alarming thoughts of running clocks,
I turn to books displayed: He’s Just Not That
Into You, Angry Black Men, Skinny Bitch.
Outside, the crowd begins to swell. Say, who’s
that cherry-faced gal with the ochre hair?
I call out her friend, then ignore her stare.
As we get underway, a terse figure,
defeat scrawled hastily across her face,
attempts to board. Our captive audience
feigns sympathy, but it’s no good. We’ve gone.