Saturday Poem: The Bus Driver

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He was born for this job. Although his objections were rarely met.

Brake. Hey. How you doin’ today? Gas.

Brake. Hey. How you doin’ today? Gas.

But he legitimately wanted to know. His purpose rarely perceived.

What if you stop? What if you actually answer him? What if he cares?

Oh no. Panic sets in. A stranger has looked at you and spoken to you.

He has the nerve to look at you while he speaks. And he smiles, too!

This was not part of your day’s plan. Now what? He messed up your morning.

What if you play along? What if you raise your eyes to meet his?

Tell him about your day, go ahead. Tell him something important about your day.

Because it will make a difference. And it will change you. And the others turn to look.

Who are these people who speak? What did they say? I want to hear.

Then they all lean forward, they want to know. They want to see why you smiled.

They want to learn the secret of your laugh. Now they long to be you.

But they didn’t say hello, and they didn’t raise their eyes, they didn’t answer.

Now they are filled with regret. They examine their narrow box of existence.

And tomorrow they vow to talk to the bus driver.

And tomorrow they all sit near the front to hear.


Rebecca Kroll lives in Bethel Park, where she owns and operates a travel agency, Starboard Cruises.


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