BUS RIDE IN SAN FRANCISCO
Street by street we travel
each block a page we turn and don’t read,
this city is a good book, each corner a twist in the plot
that we anticipate, sometimes miss, sometimes grab,
each person on the bus turns villain or hero in our story,
so I write as the bus moves along
while a very old Chinese man stares intensely at me
what story is he writing about me?
will I read it in some fortune? Later or never?
Chinatown so near, thoughts passing away to night.
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