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mderdun 3d
Waterloo Bridge/Southbank
stone cold shells
with staircases of
helter skelter;
the thames is high
with christmastide
Lancaster Place
Lily 3d
Stinky, crowded, sweltering
Laughing uproariously
Bouncing up with every Michigan pothole
Falling down into the laps of our friends
Riding to yet another competition
Frantically checking to see if we have gloves and gauntlets
The band bus
I thought you became exasperated when I sat next to you
However, you greeted me with the most sweetest and delicate tone
You stared me right in the eyes and instantly recognized my dull face
I never thought of myself as a memorable person, but I was to you
We exchanged our memories of junior year and for the first time in a while, I actually felt like someone had a genuine interest in me
Although we never spoke much before this interaction, I had a feeling that I’ve known you for ages
The bus arrived at your stop and my heart sank as I watched you grab your belongings
I let out a soft “goodbye” and smiled
I’m glad that I chose the correct seat
Daniel K Feb 9
Bouquet of unfamiliar faces
Minding own business.
Each with own story to tell
But ‘shhhh, it’s a secret’.
Excluding none takes the ride
That leads them to the next destination.
Only oneself know of
The coming journey to be told.
Sudden nudge on the back,
‘Excuse me,’
There goes one.
But no worries,
Vacant spots are to be
Filled with new,
Name less companions.
I see them come and go
As I wait
For my own story to
ollie Feb 5
No one shares seats on the bus
Not since fourth grade
And I’m still trying to figure out if it’s because we want the room to ourselves
Or because too many of us still flinch when someone slides in next to us
It happened in the summer between fourth and fifth grade
And whatever it is, we don’t know
But no one shares seats on the bus
Johnny walker Jan 21
My dad was a bus driver when I was a kid always a thrill when he'd take me out In his bus got me away from the house for the
Away from my abusive mother that dad was totally aware of I would sit behind the driver seat to watch my dad driving his bus
He was well liked by all passengers for dad was so kind and polite and helpful
to all
He would drive through all those quaint little villages to pick up all the regular passengers I was so proud of him
He was my dad and I missed so much when he passed away and at his funeral
I spoke and said If I had a chance of one more day I'd wish for one more ride on a bus with him such a wonderful father he
My dad was a bus driver he was so well liked by all his passengers always a pleasure he'd take me out with him for the day
Juhlhaus Jan 14
Seventy minutes or years
And the bus does not stop
We chose to get on
Knowing where we'd get off
Guided by our Hungarian brother

We ride past invisible fields
And through birch forests
I see their ghosts
In the headlights' glow
By day it could be Wisconsin
Or Indiana or Michigan

What a feast we enjoyed
The bounty of earth and its creatures
Gifts of love from family
We met only once before
Five households around the table
And two or three languages

Their people have well-hidden scars
Seeds of pain are buried deep
Underneath these invisible fields
Brother betrayed brother here
And many times before that
Since the first of us

Fairy lights dance on the horizon
And assemble to make a suburb
But the bus does not stop
By night it could be Wisconsin
Or Indiana or Michigan
And so it is

Seventy years or minutes
To process these thoughts
And in that time
Seeds of pain may grow
Into gifts of love
If we choose
Written as a stream of consciousness on an express bus traveling between the cities of Kecskemét and Budapest in Hungary.
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