the Chinatown bus

cramped

in the bus, standing up,

hanging onto

the overhead

strap,

i sway back and forth,

back and forth.

elbows and shoulders

against one another.

it's a  metal can

from hell

bouncing down

the New Jersey turnpike.

i long

for a window to be open.

the bus driver

is eating

a bowl of rice and broccoli,

and smoking.

the old have found

their seats,

the young, the pregnant

women.

there's even a crate

of chickens

taking up an entire row.

it's a long way

to Penn Station

from China Town.

but for a round trip

it's only fifty bucks.

we can do this.