6:59 pm

the sun is a memory
we could be moving backwards
we might be moving backwards
quiet in our cabins
alone but together
wishing we weren’t moving backwards
wishing we could be stopped
eyes watering with the day’s smog
brain stuck between the nine to five
and a dreams dripping down our faces
but the cabin quiets, the locks snap shut
we emerge, ready for the rest of our day
dark, quiet, ready to do it again tomorrow
ready to move backwards again