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The poems

© 2010-2013

mobile home

Home, home on the bus
The bus driver tells me that
Sometimes he lets homeless people
Ride the bus
All day, all night sometimes
Whatever works
Usually it’s days
If there’s a shelter with an open bed at night
But it’s cold outside in daylight too
Especially for kids

He told me one woman
Who stays overnight in the shelter
With her kids
Gets them off to school in the morning
Then rides the bus all day until they get out
And then back to the shelter
Sort of like camping out
Except campers usually have
A nifty Coleman stove
And an Eddie Bauer tent and freeze-dried food
When you’re on the bus
You can’t afford to get off
Even to pee
The next bus driver might not be so nice
For want of a couple bucks
You lose your place by the fire

So they’re movin’ around in the mobile quality
Of life where being born without privilege
Or losing your job or being crazy or drunk
Or running away in the dead of night
For one reason or another
Or all of the above
Is enough to be out on the street
And missing the bus
Has a whole other meaning