Chinatown Bus Philosophy Class.

This is a belated post written on my way to DC on 3 October 2009. I just remembered it:

Five o'clock, we can't be late
Move this bus, need this escape
to the capitol for 14 bucks
pissed, foreign, lookin' for luck
shelter from 3 hours' sun
recycled air stifles all: one
six-foot five and red black man
thinks comfort should trump profit. Damn!

What if the yellow sun'd-Asian
listened to this California raisin
if he unwrinkled his nose
kept eyes less off me, more on his toes

What if we talked to our Selves
developed muscles for mind elves
if cell phones were cigarettes
save souls from second-hand smoke Tourette's

So long to think, so much to sow
can't move too much, can't throw my 'bows

ideas are flowing, sprung a leak
wish telepathy could spark the weak

clouds catch the sun, great mystery
ethereal, metaphysical, reality

what's real? what's right? what's fate? What's sleep?
Sought ultimate truths are molten, deep.

Public transport philosophy,
Eastern neighbor serendipity.