Greyhound - La To Ny

Taxied to the terminal. The fare paid, vagrants begged for alms, some too drunk to care. Shrunken faces, weather beaten, they played a sad tune of which I was unaware. Some had the means, even possessed the fare to transport them to towns with better care. I passed the huddled poor, stepped on the bus, took my seat at a window facing west. Soon, the highway’s open arms greeted us. No longer stranger, a solemn house guest. Believing the ride would force me to test my endurance, I slept. I’m not a pest. Vegas came, sponged every cent from my purse. Should have listened to the driver. He knew how slots are rigged; still, could’ve been much worse. Could’ve sold my soul since winners are few. Back on the bus, we zipped through burgs so new to me, I ticked them off my map on cue. Three days passed. Felt like a tree that was felled. Then I saw my love. So nice to be held. Urban Sonnet poetry contest: 5/17/19 by Emile Pinet