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MY Stripped Home
While looking out my buss window,
I play with MY breath.
MY CD is skipped and broken,
But that’s okay- I listen anyway.
The buss starts to gurgle and roll.
And as we journey onward
We hit the curb with a BUMP,
It’s the same curb we hit yesterday,
And it’s the same bump we’ll feel tomorrow.
But that’s OKAY- I’ll ride anyway.
ALONE in the final, backmost seat,
Shmooshst against the window,
Hugging the backpack that is
Hugging MY CD player,
I realize that everything
Is peaceful and okay.
Me and MY stripped, cut-off gloves,
Welcome both the darkness of the bleak sky,
And the stillness of the bitter cold air.
MY window shows me trees and houses,
They’re the same trees and house of yesterday,
And yet my gaze it drawn to the scene,
As if it is the most marvelous thing I ever did see.
All the while I am absorbed by deep thoughts,
Sometimes thoughts of love and hope,
But mostly of any desperate sort of home,
Then with a shuffle and rumbly rumble,
My buss struggles up to the last hill.
So now I am again soon to depart,
And it's this obscure home that,
Till tomorrow’s grace comes,
I’ll be away from- But it’s OKAY?