Self Commute

Gulls circle wildly
to be the first to perch
upon slick black posts
ferry waves lap beneath us
calming wooden planks
that echo footsteps of all sizes.

My place in line
a Gaza to grip tightly.
Between another tailored shirt
And dark North Face fleece.

Black suits, blue suits
A bruised flock pours into the terminal
Blank faces, breaths smell of coffee
Weave a consecutive string of morning breath

A man waves on board
Signals the herd to shuffle forward
Toe upon heel
Short aggressive steps
Weave around the feeble and the leisurely--
Natural selection at work
determines who will enjoy the window booths

Social dictums need not apply
To the plenum of the
Ferry Commuters.
Disgust curdles under my breath
is not enough for me to give up
a seat on the next #12 bus