On the 422 up King Street
into City Road,
I sit with my back to the driver and

watch time recede
out the back window.
I can see where I just was.

I have moved on on my Travel Ten
and lines of motion vanish
at a point near Gould’s Book Arcade.

As a futurist
I feel myself
to be both there and here

stretched out along the street
until I ring the bell
and exit in that galaxy named Broadway

Feel free to send any comments and feedback on this poem to Ivan Head at ihead@usyd.edu.au