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?  



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