stations were years ago
by unanimity banned
from the innards of the Land
Where All Is Long.
Native in the next seat
explained this. “It’s either bite the big
bit and shell out taxi dough,
or hope you’re in shape and the mood
for a nice long walk. A station
like a station built for a transport
such as this bus – well it brings
too many distractive elements
and since all the scales are grand
and artisans remain basically busy as bees
but are the world’s happiest bees as long as
they can be busy, they have to draw a line.”
A flash of white suddenly splashed the window
and the next-seat-native’s monologue
was upended as he turned to smile
at the mountains and the lake
a thousand snow geese
floated on while basking in the sun
and they caused the caught to wonder
if amongst them could be a few swans
but you’d have to be on foot to look
so long. So anyway the trans-border bus
pulled in to the station set on the outskirts
of the Land Where All Is Long.
Ignored the barking taxis.
This world offered too much to not walk it.