The bus driver peers at the passengers, mirrored sun
glasses, in the rearview mirror, move back, keep moving
back, while the old man sleeps on the bus stop bench,
ragged, not traveling today, anywhere, his faint
visions of then, sitting on a beach mat, the smell of goza,
warm in the sun, under a coconut tree on Magic Island,
the hibachi going, the sizzle of teriyaki beef,
Korean chicken, Spam musubi, potato-mac salad,
cold beer, big icy can in a brown paper bag, he sips
and strums the ‘ukulele, that’s lost somewhere,
gone, his wife and children listening, smiling, singing,
now while the crowd moves back, to the rear,
and the bus door wishes shut, the sound of shifting gears,
how exhaust fumes feed his sweet dreaming breath.
* * * * *
Today’s word is
magic
Use it in a piece of writing and then post that piece as a comment below. I’d love to read it : )
