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City Bus Stop (Rachel Jackson- Lafayette, LA)

An awaited bus never boils
On the burner of a sunny roadside.

Countless cars bubble up in the distance.
And as a small bubble, each holds the promise
Of being my plush, awaited bus.
But as each vehicle draws nearer
A frown settles on my lips
For none of them turn into buses.

The thoughtless vans and trucks
Sizzle right past me.
Like a warm, wicked wind
Blowing sand through the desert.

Little faces fly by me
Laughing with the cool air
Comfortably enclosed in those
Horribly reflective
Sizzling hunks of metal.

Yes, while the others hurdle forward
Towards their carpeted offices
And lazy strolls down grocery aisles,
I am the piece of unfortunate roadkill.
The crispy turtle flattened against the pavement.
The paper-thin frog, light-weight, dehydrated.

Neither I nor the frog nor the turtle
Will ever reach anywhere it seems.
For my plush, awaited bus,
Like the frog's cool, awaited puddle
Never arrives.

That wistful and far away bus.
Gone. Lost. Sacrificed.
Missed, for that one remaining sip of coffee
That one last glance in the mirror.

Such a tepid drop of coffee,
And such a steamy, humid morning
Which now sits with me
On this plastic bench.

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