Buses are places I write
My cafe, my library,
With cell phones and babies crying
Earnest conversations, nanny reprimands,
Brief exchanges between the driver and his flock
I take these slow lugubrious trips as inspiration for my pen
Inspiration is a big word
Long, with many syllables, deep meaning
Does the ride inspire or the company of
Strangers whose tales I do not tell
Whose lives I fail to touch
Strangers who do not reach me
Whom I never meet or greet
Is this inspiration or just passing of time?
Filling a note book with mere observance and day dreams?