Bus Stop

Today

I missed the bus.

Every morning at three past eight I

sit on the bench, see the woman

eating her red delicious,

read my newspaper and drink my

coffee -- no cream, two sugars.

At 8:06 the giant transporter

creeps to a stop, hissing and yelping

like a worn-out wildebeast, and

it opens its mouth and we

climb into its belly, sit on its organs --

except

today

I missed the bus.

The fates, snipping at my strings,

tugged my coffee and my marionette arms

dousing my neatly pressed trousers

with java -- khaki to coffee. I went

back to change, threw on some

slacks and was at the stop. 8:07

so

today

I missed the bus.

And I watched it pull away

and I began running after, trying

to make up lost time and

gain ground on the

rolling wildebeast.

and a quarter mile later, you know

what?

I caught the bus.


ED