Purpose Driven

From my perspective on the bus, the first
full day of school is like anxiety
in tennis shoes, the blue of denim, burst
of laughter, faces full of energy
while getting on and off this ride.  I drive
to each appointed stop and with each squeal
of brake, hear rapid feet as kids arrive
like blurs in cotton tees, as if the real
of life begins with transportation’s mien,
a humble job, I realize, but one
which bolsters me because of schooldays’ scene.

I depart the school bus garage and run
the engine, idling for diesel’s sake,
then drive beneath the underpass to turn
onto a residential street.  I take
their grins quite joyfully yet earn,
I trust, some camaraderie as well
when I return the grins as they find seats.
With summer gone and solstice past, the bell
of yet another school year chimes, and greets
the life projecting life.  On this first day,
all colors are appropriate, as are
the glimmer in the eyes along the way
like morning sun or twinkle from a star.

24 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
August 24, 2013