Eventually

I will not ride
this bus tonight.
Out Of Service,
it will not stop for me,
though it appears
only half-full and we’re all heading
in the same direction.
The driver will most likely
pass me by, no matter
I’m waiting patiently,
focused as he is
on the road ahead,
his hands white-knuckling
all the way, looking instead
as far as he can see,
blind to those like me,
waiting at stops along the way,
even if later he’ll be
returning for another trip,
since he’s but only
half-way there, himself,
to where we’re all going,
eventually.

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