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.