Crazy Me On A Bus Ride Poem by Delilah Miller

Do they exist?
Because I didn't exist to them until I stepped on the bus.
I won't exist after I step off;
I'll be a short image
they might have not even noticed or acknowledged.

I feel like
I can't touch people;
we're in a small space
and everyone seems universes away.
Just flashes or pictures of people
that maybe happen,
far from this trolley stop and this city.

We don't want to be moved
but this trolley moves us.
We don't want to be touched
but the seats are filled and we're bumping each other.
I didn't want to go
but I got on,
sat down,
stared out the window
and watched the moving picture show.

Green backpack,
black bow hats,
blue jeans,
a tired pink sweater
are blending together
on this unstable, over-used melting pot

And I don't want to be in cold gunk,
the human race.
I want to be scooped up and gulped down
by a higher begin,
delighted and privileged
to be in a godly stomach.