The Busdriver at Night
can tell you what to watch out for, where to go. I don’t know
where to put my hands anymore –
neatly folded on the lap like a napkin? or resting
slack and supplicant like little martyrs at my side.
The busdriver at night could tell you where
you were, or where you would be. I don’t need to know
either, just want a chance at the wheel so I can make that slow, wide driver’s wave
through the windshield
as we pass a sister bus on a side street in the dark, warm inside and heaving close
as canes of sugar.
can tell you what to watch out for, where to go. I don’t know
where to put my hands anymore –
neatly folded on the lap like a napkin? or resting
slack and supplicant like little martyrs at my side.
The busdriver at night could tell you where
you were, or where you would be. I don’t need to know
either, just want a chance at the wheel so I can make that slow, wide driver’s wave
through the windshield
as we pass a sister bus on a side street in the dark, warm inside and heaving close
as canes of sugar.
photo by steve flanagan