Here/There

I am here		I was there
	The bus is late. I wait
in the cloudy drizzle with no umbrella		in the baking sunshine with the smell of hot dust
	The bus is full
I have to stand		People hang out the doors
	There’s a
man with a trash bag full of bottles. He stands in the rear doorway		woman with a basket of chickens that the driver straps to the roof
	We start up with
the electric purr of a hybrid engine		a low-octane blue-smoke cough
	roll away through
wet streets lined with giant horse chestnut trees		dry savannas edged with the boughs of Madagascar flamboyants
	green, green foliage and blossoms like
white		scarlet
	candles blazing
Someone reads a newspaper, finding		Someone has a transistor radio, hearing
	news of war. Everyone holds their breath. The
man with the bottles		woman with the chickens
	says, “My son…”

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside