That airplane up above me
may as well be stationary.
Same with the traffic,
even the long-haul trucks.
In my mind,
they’re not going anywhere,
are as stationary
as a bicycle in a gym.
None of them is a distant train.
They don’t rumble,
click-clack on steel tracks.
They just don’t have
that long haunting whistle in them.
Where’s the romance in a bus?
The one that rumbles by
says it’s going to New York.
But no voice cries, “All aboard!”
Who’d want to board it anyhow?
