I fell asleep on the bus to
Mayden, two-hour ride on
cracking pleather seats that reeked of
cigarette ashes and stale perfume, 
my face pressed against the hot,
then cold, then hot window
that had fogged by my
unconscious breath,
little smudges where my eyelashes
accidentally flirted with the glass,

when I woke it was
damp outside,
bus window open wide like
begging dogs’ mouths,
the chortle and chug of
belching black smoke from
rusted exhaust pipes
had rocked me to close my eyes
and somehow relax,
and I did,

and when I was done
I kept my eyes open like the bus windows but
it was just as dark as if my eyes had shut,
only industrial lights on the
front of the bus
cutting through the black,

I was supposed to be home at
but when I checked the time
it was nine past nine,

and I sighed like it would clean the
smoke and perfume and exhaust from my

and I closed my eyes,

and I let the bus ride.