On the bus I am transported to work.
The speed has been warped.
A construction zone re-routes the bus.
I gaze out the window
and fill in the blanks.
I mentally jot down notes
as I travel from
one world to another.

I am warm in my coat.
Spring approaches.
Summer approaches.
Summer comes so soon.
Spring and summer become one
and are indistinct.

I am feeling late again.
I am already waiting
until I am home free.
Where I can sit safe and solid.
Sit with a magazine.
Sit on a chair.
Sit with an object on my lap.
Sit with an object on the table.
Sit with objects swallowing the table.
Objects I worked hard to purchase.

Purchasing freedom is
a more costly venture.
When I am home free
peace has been earned.

Lydia Workman