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The Bus Ride MAG
I boarded the bus that morning
Expecting no change in weekday routine
We rode right along
Together yet
Separated
People entranced by music
Enveloped by newspapers
And I, staring
Blankly out my window
Because I had nothing better
To consume my time with
A series of old, dejected homes
Ran across the glass
Tattered, unkempt grass paired well
With peeling paint
Roofs with missing tiles
Then, glazed across my eye,
Was a child's play set, lonely on the brown dirt
A space was vacated on the bottom level
Under a wooden canopy
Maybe a swing or a crimson slide
Filled its space long ago?
Rotting wood poles took the place of the beauty of old
And now, as the bus sailed past
I sat
And thought of homes long ago
Games of the past
And the uncertainty of the future
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