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The Ride MAG
It is as if everything is moving
past me as I sit.
Quick glimpse at a tree,
And soon it is history.
Brief look at a shop,
until it flies behind.
Children toddling
Mothers dragging
Impossibly fast
openings and closings
Pigeons cooing
Laughing, begging, mumbling, shouting
And I sit in my seat staring
The eavesdropper, spy, the pointer and chuckler
As the yellow vehicle halts to a stop
I say farewell to all I have passed, encountered and pointed at.
All of the things that I would never see the same way again
A movie
except for one difference,
there is no remote control.
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