Everyone notices the bones of a school bus
In an overgrown patch perhaps
A hundred feet behind a family’s
Small house. A bit of wild
Has grown up around the bus
And the farmer lets it go,
Cultivating the land behind and
Beside it. A picture for
Day trippers speeding down the four lane
The farm abuts: bridge over
The drainage ditch, a short
Gravel drive, occasionally mown lawn,
The adequate house – just visible
The patch of wild and its busted school bus.
Even at sixty miles an hour, most people
See it. How odd, a school bus
In an overgrown island in a farmer’s backyard.
No one knows that someone lives there.
Ken Poyner has been publishing for 48 years, married for 45 years, retired for seven years. He writes to defeat the numbers. Find his eight available books at www.kpoyner.com or any number of book vending sites. Latest work in “Rune Bear”, “Analog”, “Tiny Molecules”, “Neologism”.
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