Teleporting Urbanite

"On a lark," she said,
and had begun to drag
her suitcase across four narrow bands of meaningful color:
the sooty crack before the weatherproof curb;
the curb, its yellow self;
the brief bit of air before the bus began;
and another strip of yellow, for wheelchair users to notice.

But then the ticket-taker stopped her.

"Put that one underneath.
It won't go in there."

His neon vest dreamed of fluorescing
beneath helicopters, airplanes,
or building-high ships that ride tides into harbors.

She nodded, disembarked.
Each passing strip meant its past's opposite.