Another Bus

There’s a school bus carrying the
     Band to a concert.
There’s another taking the basketball
     Team to the playoffs.
There’s the troop transport carrying
     The soldiers to battle.
Then there’s me,
     Sitting in a bus
          Full of people going different places
               For different reasons.

As I scribble down a poem, I notice

The guy across from me,
          Different visage, but still a mirror,
               Writing in his own notebook.

And there’s a guy in the front
     All in black, goatee and beret
          Who deserves the title poet on looks alone
               Even if he’s never written a word.

And only one question crosses my lip:
     "Where would a bus load of poets go?”