Bus Poem #2 Poem by robert dickerson

Just as there is pathos, ladies and gentlemen
in this sheer blue-blotted April day
so there is pathos in the aspect
of this prodigal bus, an errant M101,
that, bumbling bee-like over the horizon
this morning, advanced, looming to cetacean proportion
plowing the innocent air
(a single passenger aboard, sad Ismael)
and suddenly was gone, the quick
nervous glances of the driver to leftward, to rightward,
straining to encompass the strange terrain.

A prodigal M101-ordinarily a Lexington carriage
young cyclones and whirligigs spun from its flanks,
dragging behind a wake
of questions and confusion.

Poor perdu, Noah's bird
cut from the flock
without a roost, without a
twig, without a
home.