Temporary Space

The door clunks shut,

a world sealed off.

Faint coffee, something fake-floral,

and a plastic flip-flop

swinging from the rearview mirror.

Outside, the rain streaked the glass,

streetlights smear into abstract paint,

like I'm watching a movie

of a city I used to know.

The driver, a shadow,

his voice a low mumble on the radio.

He doesn't look back.

Good.

Just another body

in the backseat,

ghost-riding through a night

that isn't mine.

Just motion, no destination

yet.