Saturday, April 4, 2009

Featuring Daniel Kantak during National Poetry Month

Bus Lines

You may or may not know it—
know that you are on the bus with me.
I’m the kid with his chin in his hand
and you are seated in the back seat
left of me. You’re looking straight forward—
that’s what people do on buses—
they look forward
like the Queen’s guard without the big furry bear hats
that make me laugh and without fixed bayonets
that don’t humor me at all.
We can hear ½ of most things that are said on the bus
like the kid in the brim backwards white baseball cap
three rows in front of us;
“ Ya, when that happens I take it out on my little brother.”
Or the old man with the backpack on—his overall leg pockets
stuffed with rags, murmuring to himself:
“ don’t know don’t know don’t know don’t know.”
White noise of bus engine diesel drone
makes poor ear plugs for privacy
and the only seatbelt we have for safety
is pretending we don’t hear.
We are good at that—it’s a busman holiday.
Sound bites in twitter, cord pull, and pneumatic whoosh.
Those fold away side doors
are as much for evacuation as they are for exit.
I guess that’s why it only costs
six quarters to get on.
The only other place
you can go to
for six quarters is the Laundromat.
And to tell the truth
you run into
the same people there.

© 2009 Dan Kantak
Daniel makes us see a touch of daily life, doesn't he? I met Daniel recently on the Poets and Writers' Registry and if you click on the title, you can go there and read more from Daniel!
Thanks so much, Dan, for allowing me to share your beautiful poetry!

1 comment:

  1. Beautiful, Dan, I was there on the bus…❤️❤️