“Understand, life’s not black and white
Sometimes there are cleaner answers than others,”
says the man through the radio,
sounding more like a poet than the economist that he is.
And I think back to all the answers I’ve searched for,
sifting through each one like keepsakes in a shoebox from the past,
remembering memories selectively
in the same way your subconscious works with the reflection of the light
to play tricks on your eyes, seeing some grand ghost from the past
instead of what truly lay there,
only the street lamp’s skeletal shadow through the trees.
Then, from another rider’s conversation, I hear
“this is what it means”
so I’m thinking “to be in transit” seems an appropriate addendum
this is what it means to be in transit.
all the ghettos and the town homes flying past
in a single window
in a thick blur of something blue
–a cohesion of someone else’s stories
with the occasional appearance of a rainbow-wrapped telephone pole
that begs us to pause; to wonder
about all this coming and going –
if there isn’t something about the coming and the going
and the rising of dust to the horizon
and the way a place looks as your driving away
that makes you, for a moment, almost want to stay.
Image: kelly mooney