Off to the City
The noise is constant and measured
it grows louder, then muffled by turn.
Next stop is called.
The breaks slow her down,
clump,
clumpity,
clump.
The doors open
squeaking
screeching,
shrieking,
off and on
they come and go
in and out
no one sees anyone.
Caring her tired and sad cargo,
off she goes again.
Day after day
they are bumped,
bounced,
and battered;
as the creeping crawling cars
flick their bright lights
off and on,
diving underground
and then slinking back toward the light.
Vibrating metal
grinds,
groans,
and gurgles.
She hiccups,
thrusting forward
pushing,
poking,
and prodding
solitary souls
and familiar stranger
all with blank stares.
The man’s voice is constant,
chanting
crisply
and clearly
the next stop is upon on us.
Exit to the right.
The doors open
squeaking
screeching,
shrieking
off and on
they come and go
in and out
no one sees anyone.
She picks up seeped again,
racing forward until
she abruptly stops again
jostling the empty faces
who are off to the city
yet again.
~ Cristina Jill Mosqueda ~
