The gas station sign
Bathes the bus stop in soft, blue light
And I imagine that if objects could talk
I'd ask,
Who else did you watch?
Did you stand guard for the single elderly man
The broke student
The odd stranger with spare change
Enough for two hours to ride along the city's veins
Where else did they go?
The people of in-between
Who moved and stopped in beat with the beeps and shared seats
Not quite home, not quite lost
But no longer here
Waiting for the bus that might never come
Stuck with the stars and the sidewalk.
But I see the orange glow
Coming down the road
Tonight, at least
I'm headed for home
So I bid the bus stop good night
Take a seat at the back
And let the rumbling lull me to sleep.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
YOU ARE READING
Cement City
PoetryHow to capture it all? I was no photographer My paint brushes, I have retired And words simply do not belong On a cover The same way they fit In my mouth, or march along the surface Of these pages. How to capture it all? The sounds, the smells, the...
