A school bus passes by and suddenly
I am ten years old, just finishing fifth grade,
riding home with my classmates, all of whom
are bursting with anticipation for the moment
the bus comes to a stop, and the door opens,
and we are free. Free! And it’s springtime,
and we have hours to play before supper.
We open the windows to let in the perfumed air,
bouncing on brown leather seats as the bus
rolls through the potholes. We look to see
if Jamie’s golden retriever is waiting for him
at the edge of the road as we come to a stop
and the red metal flag pops out from the side
by the driver to tell the cars around us to stop
so Jamie can safely cross the road. The dog’s
whole body is wiggling as he waits. The bus
makes bus noises as we move on. We count
the stops before home. Only two more. Then me.