#Thanksgiving at the Greyhound Station


Hell is a bus station
on a holiday.

I read as I wait, thinking
Sartre most likely

had something
figured out.

Thanksgiving eve
with a crowd so large
even TV news joins in
and little kids gather
behind the reporter
to wave and flip the bird.

But that gets edited out.


Hell is a bus station.
No exit and no arrivals.
Which is the status quo.
Everyone gets edgy
because we’re all
to much like ourselves.

What we will have
is what we take away.
And no one has change
for the video games.

Hard to say how to love.
Hard to say my neighbor’s ticket
is just as valid as mine.

Hard to relax when
everyone knows everything
is double-booked.

Hard to say traffic
and the upcoming sales
and flipping off the TV
aren’t the answer.
Hard to say what
will be enough.


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