Bus Shelter
Driving past a crudely made bus shelter, it looks like concrete box
I took a picture because a mystery story was told about it.
A stormy winter night a man found the shelter it had a bench
glad the he was dry and he waited and waited only the bus didn't
drive on this road any longer.
Years later passers-by found a skeleton the police was called but
the bones had no papers to tell his name and a mystery was born.
My dog disappeared when she found her way home she was
tired and petrified and like the skeleton could tell me nothing.
I think she was lured into the van of a hunter, tied up in his backyard to
be trained as a hunting dog. She got loose and ran and
ran perhaps for days and too scared to approach people.
She overcame this trauma lived a long life and now is a skeleton in
a black bin bag in the outhouse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem