A Working Draft

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A tingle on the foot
And the tiny cockroach crawled
brown against brown

A jerk on the seat
And the cool air slowly reached
metal against metal

And the ground begins to rumble
muffled conversations
turned to waves and faces
consolations and reassurances, of
A parting
not too long

A constant push on the horn
how often does it crash?
faces pausing and looking,
waiting
how long does it take?

A stop.
people streaming in and out
tangled with sounds and smells
of foods and words
repeated words

A lady passed
And the remains swept
has the cool air stopped?
And the bones began to itch
for a stretch
or a bouncier flesh

A long pause.
And the air hissed from the back
And the coolness receded
A baby's screams hushed
And the still greens, stretched
An S.35 slowly passed

sedated naps
Abruptly awakened
And the repeated word returns
A pause for a sell
And the word returns
Another S.35 passed

the checking of the numbers
increased with the anticipation of
An arrival
And the screen flashed:
where is the exit?
[A sigh]