Poetry

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round-and- Round

Right now
down
some side street
as I sit watching
Directv
someone is pushing
a shopping cart
full of treasures
Trash
they have gathered
Smoking butts scrounged
from the ground
Living the unrehearsed life
of a survivor
Fine
in their own
mind
Unconcerned
with time
and what the
world thinks
Living on the brink
their comfortable
routine
and what of
you and me?
Striving to achieve
Believing
it matters
That our name
will outlast us
but we’re all
on the same
bus ride to
nothing
Sisters and brothers
judging each other
over the location
of our seat
Don’t believe it
The seat won’t
be regarded
when it’s your
stop
Find some peace
It’s all we’ve
got that means
anything

Categories: Poetry

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