Waiting for the Bus
Around him, there was no station to speak of,
Just an abandoned gas pump, and a shack
That had once served as a clerk’s office.
The door was locked. He peered inside,
And saw racks and racks of junk food
That had been left behind. Candy bars,
Chewing gum, bags of chips, soft drinks,
And so on. Behind the shack and farther
Up the hill was a run-down motel, built out
In the woods. People drove their cars
Up a long dirt road. Voices shouted
Back and forth. He thought about
Walking up the hill, and asking about the bus.
Someone at the desk must know the route
And when it was due. But he worried
It might come while he was away,
And so he stayed. Time hurried
Him along, one hour, two hours.
Evening came, the sky darkened,
And still no sign of the bus. Rain showers
Began to fall. Had he made a mistake?
He was quite sure, this is where
They told him he should wait.
Regardless, he’d have to go back.