They said six minutes.
Six minutes is a poem. The platform is prose.
Daily Smile
All smilesThe farmers’ market had one basket of figs.
It also had a line with opinions.
The bridge looked empty from the ramp.
The bridge was saving the crowd for the middle.
The East Bay train was two minutes late.
We applauded, quietly.
The fog stopped at the ridge.
It was observing city limits.
The hills were out.
So were the people who said they would take the long way.
The tunnel was clear.
I did not trust it until I saw the other side.
The toll tag beeped like it knew me.
It did. We have a history.
The estuary path was full of bikes and good intentions.
I kept mine to the right.
The rain stopped at the ridge line.
Oakland and the hills were having different days.