Few things stifle the spirit
like a long bus ride.
The incessant humming
of the wheels,
the cramped seats
that don’t lie back far enough,
the occasional jolt
from a pothole,
the dizzying fumes,
and the smothering warmth
create a pounding headache
that drives away
all possibility of sleep.
If there are 101 positions
one may assume
in a bus seat,
then I’ve tried 102.
I’ve given up on sleep
hours ago.
The headphones keep me sane
as I watch this
seemingly endless town
flow slowly past.
I keep waiting
for one town to end
and the next to begin.
They’re like oak trees
planted too close together,
becoming one over the years.
We’ve gone at least 500 miles,
but it feels
like no more than 50,
as though time has slowed
to the crawl of an ant
across a kitchen table.
Every mile looks like the last.
Perhaps one place
really is as good
as another,
like the old folks say.
I look around
at the other passengers.
Their gazes are fixed
resolutely ahead
with the same calm expression
of one who is marching
to his death
or returning to
the daily grind
after a long weekend.
There is one, however,
who sleeps soundly.
Her head rocks gently
left to right
with the rattling
of the bus.
I envy her.
My stomach squirms,
suffering the effects
of six jelly-filled donuts
and dehydration.
My watch says
halfway there.
Right now,
I would gladly pay
the extra $100
for the flight.
I almost wish
I had decided to hitchhike.
It would have been dangerous,
but far more exciting.
“Ladies and gentlemen,
there will be an hour stop-over
at this station,
after which we will
continue on to….”
Great.
Another stop.
It would take
half the time to arrive
without all these interruptions.
Oh well.
At least it will
break the monotony.