Transportation Center

I can take the 2:20 away from here
and the 5:15 to you
from the transportation center
in my backyard.

I can be in San Diego by lunchtime
or New York City by the middle of the week.

I can live off of
shrink-wrapped bagel sandwiches and cold coffee
until I've saved enough money
for the meal that makes a city
worth connecting to in the first place.

The train's painfully outdated whistle
is a siren song to millions of middle men,
leapfrogging from see-you-laters
and keep-in-touches
just enough to remember
their native and nagging humanity,
while many millions more
laugh at or envy them.

Any of us is
one all aboard away
from joing them.

The only difference
between mankind and the animal kingdom
is our incessant need to overstay our welcome
in any one place.
The wheels our ancestors
toiled to create
go nowhere but to symbolize
the circles we talk around ourselves.

Home can be as close
as the way I kink my neck
to see the same old stars
every night
that dot the map of the their light's travels
in the cosmos.

I can be in San Francisco by midnight
or Portland tomorrow.

I can be in Los Angeles in an hour
or Miami by this weekend,
but you aren't going anywhere.
Neither am I.