Poems - Passing By

In this stiff, bumpy box I rest,

Holed up in the back of a bus on the edge-most seat, cheeks smeared against the window.

The bus jostles and I jostle with it.

I've stared at the same blurred tree for days, begging for this to end,677Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡl07I8svUYx

Yet I can't peel away my gaze.

Oh. Just around the bend until my stop.

Home.

The road curves and I curve with it.

Pull the cord, press the button, request a stop.

What are you waiting for? You're going to miss it!

My arm meekly rises before collapsing back into my lap.

And the stop passes me by.

My eyes follow it with the energy of a sloth,

And it's gone.

That's alright. Just get off at the next stop.

Pull the cord.

Press the button.

Why do you just lie there?

And the next stop passes me by.

And the next.

And the next after that.

And the next after that, too.

They all sprout wings and soar past me.

And now I see them linger at the next stop.

Friend, family, foe.

Like zebras in an open pasture.

And they all pass me by.

Eyes of the viper, lips of sweet cotton candy,

It all passes me by.

It doesn't matter where we are now - just pull the cord!

Press the button!

Make it stop!

Though I'm but frost etched on the window,

An intricately woven quilt of ice waiting for someone to wipe me away,677Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxEloPUxGMS

And all the stops pass me by.

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