Life at Fifty-Five Miles per Hour

Wrote this on the way from NYC back to college in Pennsylvania.

…inhale

The bus sailed along the concrete ocean under the night sky,

Back toward the college, back toward home,

If that’s what you want to call it.

The streetlights ran by the windows

To catch up with the lines on the road,

And I watched every single one of them go

…mesmerized…

While the bus gently rocked back and forth

On the tides of tiny pebbles and uneven pavement

Stretching out in both directions,

Across cities and suburbs

Down to national parks, up graveyard hills,

And further than I cared to imagine.

 

exhale…

I stared out the window and wondered

Where everyone would go when we got back.

Maybe they’d get in their car and go home?

Or maybe they had someone waiting for them,

Like friends from classes the day before,

Or the other half of their hearts.

But maybe they were just like me,

With music pouring through their headphones, and

Thinking through every passing thought that came to them,

Watching the world fly by

At fifty-five miles per hour.

 

…the time in-between…

I could see her reflection from the light playing off the window.

She looked bored as she stared at her phone,

Like she was waiting for it to do something new, and when it didn’t,

She went right back to staring out into the darkness,

Repeating the process every few minutes or so.

Maybe she was alone too; maybe she thought the same things I did,

Like she didn’t want to go back just yet,

To be reminded that the white walls and droning TV are no company.

Or maybe she didn’t think anything at all.

Reviews

[Lorraine]

Great imagery, especially during the first few lines. I can almost feel myself riding in a bus and accompanying your thoughts at fifty-five miles per hour. Obviously, I love your title because it's captivating and unique. Your poem is a very relaxing read and it reminds me of the many times I do this sort of pondering inside the car, just simply watching the sceneries go by.

Keep Writing. ^___^

[Dutch Jr.]

Your metaphorical style of description--with the bus sliding over a concrete ocean, the street lights catching up with the lines on the road--is so vivid, in a creative sort of way. Don't ever change your style, and keep writing.