Bus Stop Poems

FOUR BUS STOP POEMS alone in america alone in america, a homeless vietnamese woman carries her blanket over her shoulder as she boards the bus near the walmart on the city’s eastside. months later, at the transfer center, now she has a shopping cart and a middle-aged friend, probably homeless himself, who brings her coffee from the mcdonald’s across the street. i had known her many years ago at a burger stand on the westside. she didn’t seem so crazy then, just a little paranoid. people make room for people like her, with all of her bags... and the elderly woman with a large portable ice chest and a whole kitchen in her gear. at the bus stop the wild verbena, purple as lent, quotes itself verbatim ad infinitum, while a daisy, lackadaisical at first, stands out in early march winter green and shouts “yellow” at the yelling streets swarming with angry cars. automatic staring at the old boarded up horne street hardware store from the bus in como, coming back from the viola pitts medical clinic, i automatically think of the horn and hardart’s automats in new york city in the 1960’s... full of andy warhol wonder stars and horned up hardhats looking for love. fantastic i drank a fanta orange soda in the hot streets of madrid just before i encountered the spanish infanta (little princess) with the court dwarf in attendance in velasquez’ “las meninas” at the prado museum. this poem comes back to me as i watch a very short man drink a fanta orange soda on the bus this early chilly morning.