when’s the bus coming
I’d ask…
leaning onto the street to search the horizon
could feel the wind against my skin
as vehicles raced past
I became overcome with excitement
while grandma sat stoically wearing her signature garb
which concealed her greying hair
fanning herself with a paper that read “help wanted”
as a drunken man came asking…
if she’d any loose change to spare
the nerve of some people
I thought to myself
until she reached into her purse
and asked would a dollar instead be of any help
finally…
bout time the bus finally appeared
easing to a tumultuous stop
as the loud breaks eventually sneered
just some poor kids and an old lady
the bus driver had to think as we boarded
while I paid my fare
and searched for a seat among the unimportant
many headed to pay their bills
others to their attorney
all too consumed with the destination at hand
while I…
only concerned myself with the journey
the window was a lens to all I didn’t understand…
the winos outside a storefront…
some lady pushing a cart full of empty cans
and the dilapidated buildings that we called home
soon made way to crowded sidewalks
and skyscrapers which ascended high into the unknown
and as the days become months
and the months become years
we grow further from who we were
motivated by the inevitable
we strive to find forever…
if only for a blink
I know it’s crowded on Memory Lane…
just save me a window seat

CHARLES GARRISON
DOC #A496360