We are jostled and leaning into the slowing and the speeding up, but it is such a part of our lives that we ride unconsciously. We singularly ride. With little talk, we plug in, we plug our ears with earbuds and we cocoon into ourselves.
There is even a sort of winter uniform of down coats, wool hats and fake fur trim. We burrow in. Hibernate.
We don’t even acknowledge sharing a seat with each other.
Too bad for them — they will never know that I’m secretly writing them into my poems.