School Bus Poem by Daniel Y.

Sitting in the warehouse,
where raindrops sing a lullabye.
I think of the only things I know.

Many kids,
all in a row
screaming back and forth.
Running down the isle
stomping on the rugs.
Tearing up the seats
drawing on the windows
spilling food and drink.
Bleeding, crying, hoping, trying.
Roll on.
The driver takes me in circles
seeing the same sights twice a day.
Squeezing me into one-way bridges.
Breaking my tires in.

But when in total silence
I dream of all the kids
and reminisce the sirens
that carried them away.

I hit an ice patch,
Roll on. Sideways.
My broken ribs have splayed.
The children lay out like my entrails.
My vitality.
And after a while, I am taken to rest, and to rust.
The graveyard has only memories.