Context: She boards the University’s shuttle bus everyday as part of her daily commute. With her headphones always plugged on, she narrates the stops and the surroundings to me on phone. The noisy ambience makes it difficult to hear, but we still keep the calls on. While returning, the same shuttle takes a 10-min stop midway – which she dislikes, for she is tired after a long day.
You step into the morning to begin the daily routine,
Past the bright neon of 7-Eleven, waiting at the line.
The commuter traffic thrums: a loud, relentless screen,
A chaotic crossing where the lanes and tempers realign.
You pass the sharp, metallic angles of the Cybertruck,
Then the faded pole where “Lini Needs Housing” catches your eye,
A missing cat, a small fragment of a life unsaid,
While you navigate the rush of exhaust passing by.
The network acts up, and your voice breaks in my ear,
Frayed and thin, competing with the concrete and the roar.
Through those headphones, the background is all I hear;
The wind, the hiss of air brakes, the rattle at the door.
I lose every third word you say to the rumble of the street,
A broken conversation patched with pauses and delay,
But I hold the phone closer, letting the static meet,
Happy to simply map the heavy movement of your day.
At the LIRR stop, you board the campus shuttle line,
Your headphones staying on to cordon off the crowd.
The bus moves through its stations, tracking the design,
Past the campus plazas while the engine hums aloud.
Through MNH and Administration it rolls – a predictable arrest,
Until the brakes release you at your stop: Life Sciences West.
But the evening is a heavier, less forgiving route:
The work is done, your “battery low”, the body wanting home.
The same bus halts at the SAC, turning the power out,
Ten minutes frozen in the yard beneath the twilight dome.
I hear your quiet dislike for the time they waste inside,
The idling wheels, the waiting doors, the stillness of the ride.
We stay on the line through the traffic and the drone,
Two distant points connected by a signal strained and weak.
It is a difficult audio, a fragmented sound on the phone,
And yet, we have no trouble as we find the words to speak.
It doesn’t matter if the static swallows every word you say;
For I will still be listening, trying to bridge the miles away.
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