When I Must Take You Home

When I Must Take You Home

I look past the people
who look in our bus window
I look beyond the bus driver
to the small red speck of light
that develops like blood as it grows

I hear loose iron crank  ready to fall apart
like the legs of an old person
and then a screech as they are restrained
against the over salted road

I smell old grease from fried chicken
and the faint foul blends of sweat
in poor labor work
and sheds of old homeless skin

I feel a touch of spring
not yet entirely grown
I turn to you shake you  just a little
like the fall morning
when you first open  the front door
and I say  Wake  up  wake up  we're home
this is where we get off

and you stagger to your feet
like a baby after falling
grasping at bars and arms
that aren't there


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