A Love Poem

Local bus 30 eastbound (Bayview),

                                                           you       complete  me.

When your sturdy frame
crests the hill at Baltimore and Greene
and you whistle to a stop—

             doors swinging open with a  SWOOSH
             bowing to meet my steps with
             a royal fanfare, proclaiming,
                                                             "Make way for the Queen!"
                                                             (SSSSSSS SSSSSSHHHHH    BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP)

—I slide into a window seat,
reach for my earbuds and
suddenly
                          everything          in  my         world       makes    sense.

Your path,
though like the 10,
is nimbler,        more precise
                                                                   smooth.

As Bullneck rumbles down Broadway 
onto Eastern and 
haphazardly cuts
                             through
every       stop,
a gruff, interrupting uncle,

you, Bayview

                           Baaaayyyyvvvvyyyyoooo

                           gentle sister—

you understand the
curves of the road,
you listen to them.

Lessstopsbodiesclutternoise

s                          p                          a                       c                          e

to  stretch  my  legs

unwrinkle  my  forehead

cradle  my  thoughts,

the tired, unhappy children they are.

I am your guest for thirty minutes,
door to door

I don't know where you go
after you drop me off

but I will be happy to see you again

you are
my way   home.