bus passes
passing for
gris gris
around our necks.
constantly traveling,
but do we know
our companions?
cameras
masquerading as
watchful eyes
while our ancestors
lie listless
in their loving.
we have
forgotten to call
their names
even as they shout ours.
gone are conquering roots and
strong hands;
magnetized plastic mantras
guide us to
our destinations.
our ears must attune
to something other than
train announcements.
maybe i should
shake a shekere and
see who comes
running off the platforms
easing from the bus stops
to listen.
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