several seats back there's a woman with a plastic face
zipping and unzipping her plastic bag
she mutters to herself about a miserable place
how she should have been allowed to have the seat beside her husband
her man fashions himself after paul newman
smoothly groomed slick clean to the tee
had the goodness to accept the seat beside the black man
stares out the window but doesn't look to see

the bumpy road home to a million familiars
the little boy pulling on his sister's hair
the mother's gray eyes so still and empty
wishes she could answer that we're almost there
the cargo of humans suspended together
funny that we all smell like trees fruits and flowers
reading the paper get ink on the hands
ideas in the head about our suffering land

at the hands of mother nature in the arms of father time
it's a one act show from the get go until we die
the road on which we're traveling is going to be a bumpy ride
i guess we'll have to leave it up to father time

the bus driver's hands so rough as leather
glances in the glass to make sure we're asleep
puts a mix tape of johnny cash in the player
knows every word to every song because he's heard them all
so deeply since the days at home

i am a part of this too
some sort of lusting captive to travel
more farms and silver silos
as the world unravels