The morning bus
The schoolbus croaks down our hill at just exactly the right time
Again which is constantly amazing to me — how does that driver
Persuade that bright groaning whale of a thing along so deftly so
Bouncingly saggingly cheerfully and never is he off by a minute,
Never that I remember in twenty years? Now that our kids aren't
On the bus, I watch for it even more closely, for reasons I cannot
Quite explain — the easy words would be sentiment and nostalgia
And memory and a silent sadness that their littleness is now gone
Forever, and those were swift and hilarious and tumultuous years,
Yes they were, with an incredible amount of mud and yelling and
Sandwiches and laundry and more sandwiches, my God, how can
Three children eat a thousand sandwiches a day, how can that be?
But the inchoate desire is some sort or shape or song of reverence,
I think — something about witness and celebration, and memory as
A lever for the present joy; you cannot wallow in the past, but you
Sure can use it as a staircase. Something like that. So I am present
In the kitchen window at 7.39 exactly if at all possible, to be given
The gift of a kid licking his window, or a kid waving at me, or one
Little kid this morning inarguably and thoroughly picking his nose.
You wouldn't think in the usual course of things that a boy picking
His nose would be a glorious and poignant and thrilling and joyous
Sight, something that seemed truly and deeply holy, but it sure was,
To me. All children are my children and yours and the bus bounces
Down the street every morning and we are not dead and all is grace.
Flew
One time when my twin sons were eight years old
And on their first league basketball team there was
A boy on the other team who was small but as fast
As could be although not yet in command of a ball
And his arrow of a body at the same time. This kid
Takes off at one point from a standing start and his
Launch was so sudden and forceful that both shoes
Stayed behind. He no kidding flew out of his shoes.
A few of us parents saw this and started snickering,
And then a boy on our team, a gentle and solicitous
Lad named Michael, picked up the sneakers and ran
After the speedster, who by now was sliding around
Helplessly on the buffed shining floor, and Michael
Was pursuing him around picks and screens waving
The shoes, and the ref is laughing so