by Robin Dahling

Morning Commute (aka Bus Stop Fate)

They stand there.
Queued before me,
waiting their turn for something that
hasn’t happened
but will happen.
We’re certain of it.

It is our fate.

They are sullen.
Silent.
Sweating.
Searching
the latest post on Facebook,
or Twitter,
or Weibo.
Not Fake News
but Fate News
to pass the time as they await theirs.

It didn’t used to be like this.

There was a time
in the past when we were social,
serene
smiling
sharing
caring about the people around us.
Their day.
The minutiae of their lives.
Our fates were interwoven in the mundane.
Connected.
Threads spun out by Life and joined on the loom of the Fates.
Not a frustrated tangle of Christmas lights,
but a beautiful mosaic of colour with a larger picture.
Strangers became acquaintances, acquaintances became friends.
It was serendipitous.

Now we are dismissive
Disdainful.
We snub
spurn
scorn
anyone who would invade the sanctity of our wait.
We do not measure out of lives in coffee spoons,
but lungfuls of diesel,
and droplets of rain,
and iPod songs.
We are lost in our music,
our media,
our mania.
We avoid eye contact because that might lead to …
No, don’t even think about what it might lead to,
because it might lead to change,
and this is Fate.

Unflappable.
Unchangeable.
Undeniable.
Irresistible.

Just accept it.
Stand in your queue.
And then race to your next queue.
And the next.
And the one after that.
Wrapped in a cocoon of music
or gaming
or social media.

Social media.
Remember when social media was the bus stop?