TRAX:  Morning and Evening Commute
11/09/2006

10:41 - Morning Ride

Raining again, fog descends.
Indecision: should I bus, TRAX, drive or bike?
Fear of being left behind:
panicky purchase of TRAX ticket.
Well, I missed the 10:30 anyway.
What’s the big rush?
Complications, not convenient.
Bus schedules overwhelm me;
trying to the find the perfect route.
No wait at transfer? No such thing.
Just takes a little planning, so get into habit.
A pissed off lady on cell phone,
bemoans that her ride didn’t show.
She's an hour + half late for work.
Train is definitely late, must be patient.
I’ve said yes to too many things.
10:44 am, train finally arrives.
Train is full, busy, with students leaving class.
Chatter of friends huddling,
chatting their cell phone babble.
I sit backwards, descending
past red flashers and barricades,
past Jack O’ Lantern cluster and birds on wire.
Why can’t I get my act together?
Dark rainclouds.
Dangerous precedent: Where are we going?
It doesn’t look good, yet complacency is all around.
Hostess Hearts: fast food, industrial food.
Sun peers out from sky glimpse;
raindrops on window glisten.
An intimate union between strangers.
I had to force myself to finally ride train.
Transfer soon: how long will I wait?
Things I never notice, like the little water tower,
or Cabana Club: Salt Lake’s Premier Piano Bar
10:56, arrive at Gallivan and transfer.
Building crane, vast parking lot sprawl, shattered sign.
Scattered leaves; just a few left on trees.
Wet streets shine in sunlight.
Banners and sparkles announce truck sale.
Southbound, past construction dirt piles.
My life too complicated, too pulled in all directions.
Empty lot, then a park with huge puddle.
At 11:05, suddenly at my stop: Ballpark.
Roar of internal combustion engines,
it’s the sound of the apocalypse.

5:21 pm - Evening Ride

I rushed, running frantically to catch TRAX.
When I arrived, I discovered I rushed for nothing.
TRAXers in waiting swap stories of transit mishap,
share stories of misjudgement.
Bus rumbles by fence with broken pole at its base.
Shopping bags rustle; androgynous shopper
inspects contents from foraging at WalMart.
Ding Ding Ding Ding: 5:25 train arrives.
Crowded train -- it is, after all, rush hour.
A knitter serenely knits.
God, finally…what did it take to get me to ride the train?
Lady's blouse opens accidentally; bra exposed...quick! button up!
Androgynous shopper slyly eats French fries;
his or her WalMart bags hold potato chips and soda pop.
Zebra-striped jeep and red dumpster:
in growing darkness, colors become obscured...mostly.
I always fixate on yellow traffic lights, as they are so transitory.
Beep + dings announce arrival at Gallivan, 5:35.

Coasting and cruising past glowing storefronts and neon.
By 5:30, too dark to see out.
Window's reflectivity obscures darkness.
Androgynous shopper drops Walmart bags,
rustling and releasing faint french fry smell.
Fans overhead are loud, if you pause and notice.
Offices aglow; late workers keep working.
Bored riders stare outside, stare down, stare at nothing.
The world is now at the pinnacle of the whole oil game.
These souls trust that all will be taken care of,
trust that someone will figure out something.
Chain after chain in unbroken line, along 4th South.
People like rock music for their cell phone chimes.
At 900 East, androgynous shopper departs.
Long line of cars, waiting and winding upwards.
City lights below disappear behind black building.
Commuting as a passenger is different than driving.
Nearly home, and yet I am disoriented.
5:49 pm