Transit

The space

Far from home

Alone and I stare at

the gray-green coat on

the windowpane as I

try to look for

the sky

but there is

not sky
and flies run
paths across the seat
across from me
I try to think of
being them
mindless, hungry
hopeful.
It is summer and
back and forth
rumble walls, sweat
lines seat covers
a man in the middle
aisles has vodka
and not courtesy
to drink from a
brown bag.
He is quiet
and I am too
and the flies sing
and a cricket chirps
but otherwise
the bus is empty
and we have not
left yet.