Six stops, including a ten-minute changeover in Newark.
That’s how long it took you to get up the courage
To let me down “easily.”
Six, two-minute stops, as mandated by the New Jersey transit authority
Or God-Knows-Whoever-the-Fuck is in charge of counting
How we waste our lives.
Six. Motherfucking. Stops.
That’s how long I rode, waited, holding your hand
Feeling happy—blissfully unaware,
As it turned out.
Six stops of ignorant, trusting,
Gullible, stupid, pie-eyed,
Six stops again tomorrow, alone.
Next time, I’ll fall for someone who drives,
And can unceremoniously ditch me