Waiting for the Bus (Written January 21)

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.

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