372

Busting at the seams on the 372

a thousand tagged rollerdoors rush by
a girl arranges her face into a sly smile
a businessman shifts discontentedly behind
bare bone streets with middle eastern flourishes
a bag lady dives into yesterday's garbage
a lad paces the corner with a long bay shuffle
early morning light hangs broken in the air
crowds surge to the bus door to be freed
in the tunnel buskers soft strum the crowd
the steady thunderclap of ticket machines
the steady sound of a city breathing
hands rustle and shake newspaper headlines
pigeons gather at crumbs then erupt in flight
burnt toast and coffee scent the air
a lady studiously fingers her mobile phone
monday morning questions hang unanswered
instance by instance dissolves in the flow.