Return to Nowheresville

Better to travel than to arrive. The bus

Shot from the tunnel, threaded a skein

Of thruways, passed up stolid homes

Edged with bridal bouquet, electric azaleas.

We left the demented panhandler back

In the Port Authority, took on

A string of languorous stations ringed

By dusty hedges jammed with candy wrappers

And wine bottles. Ashes to ashes,

The sky a stretch of grease from there to here,

Where industrial effluvium prods the horizon.

Across the steaming asphalt lot

I see a smudge of shopping mall pasted

To the earth. Eighteen-wheelers grunt

Along the interstate's overused emery board.

The sky is full of smoke and empty of promise.

The remote control bolted to the nightstand

Can't reprogram this tableau. Mini-soaps

And shoe buffers lined up in the bath, tumblers

Filled with hotel air, the rattling toilet seat cover

Of eternity. I drop my black bag

On the tense, tired bed.

As sunlight drains from the window

The room service menu begins to glow.