a sleep-deprived late night ride

four late-nighters avoiding sleep as if

sleep was a mortal sin to be avoided.

from a back seat at the window

I daydream of Rosa Parks, resolute and valiant.

but this is the bus to nowheresville, and

I'm not Rosa Parks.

I'm cotton-eyed Joe who earlier slurped java

at the counter of a desolate diner where

in better moods would've been

an occasion to be memorialized. but here,––

I'm one of four late night vagabonds

riding the bus, nearing sleep,

instinctively leaning right around the left-lane bend

instinctively leaning left at the right-lane exit

on the road to no place in particular.