Mexico City Bus Terminal

Awoken hastily from my seat

made warm by my sleeping body

in a bus rolling into Mexico City

within moments I stand dumbly

in front of dozens of ticket counters

so many bodies rushing in all directions

reading sign after sign of destinations

Tijuana, Culiacan, Los Mochis, Guadalajara

even Chicago

a man pushes a large broom in utter monotony

walks with uniformity

speaks to himself lowly and lonely

sprawled on frigid marble floor I sit

 early morning a bright electric red clock blinks

6:38am

again a man with the large broom pushes by

exact pace in exact place 

over my shoulder the sky begins to brighten 

sound of taxi horns piercing

interrupt soft sounds of chattering and footsteps

across frigid marble

where I sit, I wait

indigenous women walks past

with rucksack hanging down her back

indignant porters work with feverish haste

in blue overcoats hanging to there waist

she stops - stands looking vacantly at ticket counters

wearing the same look as I wore an hour before

morning gets later the sounds grow louder

the pulse of the day gets underway

the sky is full’n bright

the electric florescent light subsides

a more pleasing natural color illuminates the terminal

a swarm of porters stand circled

cigarets resting on finger tips and clanking change

earned earlier morning

I just begin to puzzle

 where is the man with the large broom

he is not in the room

maybe sent to another place

another space

time continues slowly

I sit perpetually idle

my mind tires with thoughts

my own monotonous wait

day is so long with nothing to do
except push this pen

he arrives

pushing that same tremendous broom

with his belly 

holding it steadily same pace same place 

he does not speak like before

his mouth is occupied with persistent chewing

a sugary doughnut he’s truly cheery

his content generates my elatedness

the morning is transforming

my day has begun

the bright electric red clock blinks

9:36am

April 22, 2011

By Mike McNett