Remember IV

Maiden Voyage on the Staten Island Ferry

For twenty-five minutes we become
pure potentiality, individuals drifting
on an orange mass transportation system.

Drifting away, through the New York harbor
and into the white light of dawn, now
beaming through the ferry windows.

A stumpy woman in a floral skirt slouches
like a potato between two lumpy tote bags
on a bench by the bright west wall, eyes closed;

a grey-suited man beneath the neon exit sign
grips his greying briefcase and gazes
through his watch to the filthy floor below.

From where I sit, the silver hands tick
backwards: every second closer—
yet no longer the people we once were.