Night Bus to Boise

The riders grant a chuckle to cows outstanding in their field
the first time. sullen resentment after every stop.
by pendleton all the driver’s uniformed cheer
is gone with the caffeine.

The front of the bus calls out denver into our future.
bits of hobo romance are hung up in the litany of stops:
portland to hoodriver, the dalles, stanfield (transfer to walla walla)
pendleton, la grande, baker city, ontario, nampa, boise.

I will get off in boise, midmorning, to leave the night breathed air
but the bus and others will continue, shipped dozing across the land
to twin falls, burely, ogden, salt lake,
evanston, rock springs, laramie, fort collins, and denver

the frail old woman across the aisle is bound for tennessee.
she does not get off for cigarettes,
perhaps afraid to be left.
we both know the driver hopes to abandon us.

we can be anyone on a bus, plus those breaks to filter cigarettes
into the bloodstream
no baggage search
so, moving america stares into the windows

faster than a stagecoach, but still no real food
nothing real at all that we want to acknowledge
feeling all the while someone has gone back
on a vague promise

only blackest night outside.
we do not trust anyone least of all when
our lost eyes meet themselves
only for a moment in the reflection.