You live in a time
where everything is obsolete
the bus you wait for is long gone
or rumbles by with a lone passenger
face pressed against the glass looking
for some sign of recognition out the window;
the coins in his pocket buy very little, the phone
calls he wants to make no longer exist, the empty
red booth a relic of a different time.                                                                                     Everyone stumbles the city
streets looking down isolated
from everything that is around them, anything                                                                               that might touch who they are,
who they will never be.