This past Saturday I spent a couple of hours at the bus terminal here in New York. I wasn't going anywhere; I wanted to feel the environment that I was in. I believe that there is a story wherever we are. I wrote a poem about the terminal a couple of years back.
I stood in the upper promenade and observed the scene around me. Homeless people are still there but not nearly as bad as in the 1980s. It reminded me of my youth and my travels. It also demonstrated to me that there's more miles to go. The people I observed were a mix of harried, wearied, wondering what life had to offer, and 'can't wait to get to where I want to go'. It's amazing how ideas for a story or poem can be created. It also shows how interconnected the author is with whatever world he/she may currently be in.
Empty Terminal
The corridor is empty
All the shops are closed
There are no crowds rushing everywhere
I pirouette on the waxed floor
The race which began many miles ago
Has finished in this deserted terminal
My sojourn has brought me back to the starting line again.
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