Quantum Bus Stop

At the bus stop, a man
advised those assembled
in cold rain
that the cells in their bodies
were doing quantum things,
such as disappearing and
appearing at the same time.

"Is it bad reception?" asked
a thin gray woman. "Like
the old days, with TV antennas?"
A young woman wearing
a green hand-knitted cap
said, "I guess everyone
is a physicist today."

The bus appeared, hauling
its exhaustive, Newtonian heft
towards us. "All of its
molecules seem to be
in order," said the young woman.
She put her headphones
on her ears, and I imagined
electrons of music dancing
in her brain. Ups the steel

steps we went, finding our
places in spaces that were
empty in the seats.


hans ostrom 2020

Traffic Surf

Car traffic tonight
2017 sounds like a metal
ocean, tires and tires
laying down bass lines.

I've never wanted
to tell a sea to shut up.
In fact I've treated
surf noise as a lullaby

composed by hubris.
Concerning this endless
traffic enjambment,
my attitude is flat,

as if an itinerant psychiatrist
had injected my
brain with novocaine and
filled my ears with alloy.


hans ostrom 2017