#45 (by Allison M.)

#45

driving fast
on a hill near home
in a hurry
(I always am)

halted by the
flashing lights
of an obnoxious yellow bus,
with each red blink
I watch the clock and sigh
with angst I’ve rehearsed
for 17 years.

from the slow screeching doors
comes a girl
with sun colored curls
and a bright pink backpack

have I forgotten?
how it feels to be so small
surrounded by scary metal machines
and endless rivers of asphalt
in my clean white sneakers

I had forgotten,
until then
when I watched her cross the street.

and even after the school bus
lurches on
I pause, smile and
wave
to the me I’d missed for eleven years.

-- by Allison M.