Day 40 - 7:10 am

Here is another old poem that I wrote. Its about when I was in grade school and rode the bus from the farm to school.


7:10 am

Early morning gray dawn light breaks the horizon.
The black ribbon of highway passes my gravel.
I stood here, years ago, waiting for my school bus.

Waiting, I would throw rocks at the open-mouth mailbox
which stood across the road (my bus driver had 2 mailbox "kills" under his belt)

Waiting, waiting my eyes searched.
Glimpses of yellow flash from the horizon's highway;
then, emerging like a rising submarine from the sea,
my bus slowly stops in front of me.

Lights flash, break squeal, door opens.
I bound up the steps
my book-bag and "Wild, Wild west" lunch box in hand.

"Morning Jim Barton."
"Morning Jack."

Doors close as I take a seat on the empty bus.
Looking out I watch the countryside go by in a blur.
The sun rises,
more kids get on,
my memory fades...

black highway, gravel dust smell, yellow school bus