to get to the greyhound station now

one passes under the paw of the beast

shiny, crouching stadium; try not to worry

not about the fancy cantilever overhead

but about stadium neighbourhoods, dead

and abandoned, like those stale donuts

in rustbelt cities, traceries of fast economy

devouring land, lighting the cuyahoga river

on fire, the way they used to. it’s better now

i read somewhere. never saw it myself, just

the traceries of varicose roadways

out by the old stadium, sagging

like one year too many of sugar and weight.

but let’s not be grim, the bus webpage said 10

and there’s parking out front.

inside, the tired man at the counter says no

it comes in at 11, website’s wrong. just that.

it’s wrong. you know better now, don’t you?

than to ask why does nobody fix that?

this whole place is holding still

a little breathless, like

the mouse beneath the claws

it won’t be long before the big beast lands

this station is doomed. the spirit of the bus

is already hovering, farther from downtown

waiting for its landing

among a tracery of new lights.