29

as the bus, noisily, ambles on
i contemplate purpose, victory
and together we go
greedy and prepared to discover
a new corner on this
perfectly round world
its immensity, rough
music blasts and my mind
it floats- high, high, high
the air is sweet and green
so crisp it burns my nose
our smiles, big and crooked
displayed under double pairs
of eager, squinty eyes
four small windows
senses filtered and elevated
where do we go from here
my sweet boy?
who needs a tomorrow
when one discovers everything