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?”