Timeliness

I am the girl who missed the train
and ran for the bus, breathless
just as it was leaving
with its passengers arranged comfortably
in neatly coupled seats.

I am the girl who left the station too late
to catch the train
because she hadn't checked the over-sized,
imposing sign of Arrivals and Departures,
deciding instead that Her Best Guess
would be the most romantic—
and thus important—
evidence of fact.

And I am the girl who did not look back
as the train roared on and the bus blew by
because something in her dim heart understood
that the train's momentum could not be slowed,
that the bus was destined for other roads
and that if things were really meant to be different,
Divinity would have entered.

Now due to my recent series of transportation
failures I have opted to walk in favor
of being whisked swiftly underground
or holding my breath above rickety wheels
while shuttling along these crooked
brick-lined streets.

The city lights, as guideposts, are steady.
At every intersection I am met
by the clear, familiar flashing
of artless traffic signals.
And walking, in its purest,
most pleasing form
isn't concerned with waiting
or schedules.

And yet,
although you can change what you chase,
you can rarely control what follows:

because I am the girl
you continue to pass
when you aren't looking out your window.

.