Now Boarding

“First Call. Now Boarding.”
Names spill out like a milk run,
of whistle stops,
serving hot coffee,
across a well worn,
torn tattered torn road map.
A dormitory of numbered lockers,
house packed suitcase lives,
secured for 24 hours.
Ticket wickets
selling “Dream Lotteries,”
booking passage on…
“It’s Going To Be Better!”
Red eye hasty departures,
unannounced arrivals,
kind couches creased
with over stayed welcome,
one-way ticket destinations.
“Last call. Final call, now boarding.”
At the starting gate,
Bus bays of diesel engines revving,
like panting beasts
with bellies baggage bulged;
excited silver.
Intimate conversations
seek lonely companions,
to tell their Life story.
Strangers sweaty silently sit
seated Reserved weary…
praying for a place
to stretch out their feet
and sleep, and sleep, and sleep;
as Greyhounds race full out,
bounding through the passing night,
down Coquihalla, Yellowhead, Trans Canada tracks.
Psst!
Air brakes releasing,
Like running out of breath.
Psst!