the A-9 archive

even now,
with fifty years
gone by,
the hiss of air
brakes and
and folding
and closing of
the doors is
familiar to
your ears.
and the exhaust
as the bus
crawls to a stop,
is old news,
as is the ding
of the pulled string
along the sides
above the worn
vinyl seats.
holding on,
staring out
the emerald
windows that were
always stuck
shut.
you could be
blind and ninety
and still know
where the dc
transit A-9
archive will pick
you up
and drop you off
downtown in
the middle of
a school day, with
a pocket full
of quarters.