Plymouth & Brockton

I sit on the bus
Crammed into my seat with my backpack on the floor between my knees.
My teenage son, close beside me, falls asleep on my shoulder.
The rush hour traffic slows our progress as the night pulls us further away.

I feel like we are runaways,
only not,
as we are heading
toward the chaos I most wish to avoid.

Each mile brings us nearer to the family we love
Captured in tension I hate.
Like a roadside accident draws viewers
We are unable to stay away.
I look out the window
as we pass familiar billboards and exits.

I wake my son for dinner.
We share pizza from the purple cooler balanced on his lap.
Sliced apples and pierogis from the one balanced on mine.
Conversation is sparse, but easy.
He squeezes my hand and doesn’t let go.

Heads together we close our eyes and rest as the bus moves forward.

bus

 

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