morning commute

middle age pudge waddling
to work, crossing farwell;
i wait at the transit center.

nervous scratching, bus driver
escorts a wheelchair on,
buckle buckle snap click.

that bike at the racks has a flat tire.

we’re 8 minutes late leaving the station.

i’ve seen at least 3 motorcycles already
this morning, as though 50 degree
7 ams bring out the biker in everyone.

some people never take
down christmas decorations.
they look oddly misshapen
against the snowless yards.

i almost forgot how many
potholes were on clairemont.