Greyhound

Something resembling
the old bus station
with little TVs on the chairs
and a headline warning
about too much zen behavior
(or maybe it was the opposite;
reading upside down is funny).
Lots of yellow and orange
and a speckled floor. Blue signs
mimicking a forgotten sky.
Busy feet criss-crossing to nowhere.
I thought by middle age
I would be more purposeful,
know where to go.
But a lack of direction and no sense
of place finds me stuck in the terminal,
switching channels now and again,
clinging to little flickers of movement.