Lazy, tired,
Walking absent
Down the street,
Haunted by a familiar
State of mind
I get into
The white and red bus
It's full of people
Tired of work,
Just wishing
To lay down
On a coach,
Any coach,
For the rest
Of their life.
They really don't care
What I think,
Or, say, that lady thinks
Or, say, that old man feels,
They just gaze dumbly
To a spot
Where they see
The great, comfortable
Emptiness.
I look around
And close my eyes:
Why do I have
The feeling
That I'm living
Someone's else
Life?


May 2007, Toronto