The Doll's Face in the Mirror is Speaking

The express and the local
came down Latona
stacked up like a Burlington Northern
eight articulated coaches long.
They hissed liked snakes
on the wet asphalt.
Two busses blew right past me,
the drivers looking worried,
the drivers looking south.
I boarded the next express
with the driver looking worried
and the driver looking south.
He hit the gas and swore under his breath.
We ran the red light at 45th
and ran the next two stops
packed with bewildered commuters
whose faces soured into impatient rage
as we flew past them.
The bus driver continued to worry and swear
and the jilted riders continued to spit and curse
as we drove on towards downtown and their empty desks.
I smiled at each one of them from my perch above the wheel well;
on time, smug and dry.