You slug past the Chicago Tribune
wondering if you will be a reporter working there on deadline
with only black coffee to fuel your self
Earlier at the Greyhound bus depot you read
in section 10A-
"You are a dreamer and often would rather sit shotgun than drive."
Its curious how enough space can tell all your secrets.
You enjoy believing and scan pedestrians
strutting sumptuously on sidewalks. Lick one
street name after another to remember this taste
You remember a conversation with mother
"I can see just fine," you told her .
She saw you squinting while operating her Subaru wagon one night
Now instead of paying attention you read every billboard
Also stare and absorb bums on street corners who
"Will work for food."
You swallow their image as "I am a con who will spend change
you give me on booze," while making a left hand turn in the most
direction of denial
After exiting back onto the interstate of reality
courtesy of Jam Van Transportation Services
there is only this present tense crescendo
you realize you arent the one deciding where you are going
Trapped between your ears it hums your epiphany to
the doors that are automatic
the plexi-glass window
the smell of stale cigar smoke and sweat stained velour seats
You are unaware he is pissed off from being stiffed all day
He is the cab driver you forgot in the front seat
There is still your destination awaiting
A 25 minute shower, queen size bed and natural sex over the weekend
with only room service intermissions
Your thoughts are traffic lined up for ten city blocks
In a taxi the temperature is 86 degrees with high humidity
You are simply trying to drive the 90 miles that leads to bliss
Gentleman is a Mass Communications major at Mesa State College in Grand
Junction, Colorado. Her pursuit of truth and understanding are elements
she carries into her love of launguage and arranges into artfully written
pieces of life. She endulges in her appreciation of poetry while supporting
herself as a Mary Kay beauty consultant.