The Bus

Okay, so on my way to the bank of america and to the post office, I was walking back towards work, knowing i was going to stop by at A BURGER PLACE to grab lunchar. yes, lunchar. So on my way, a homeless lady stopped me for a moment and was like, "will you buy some of my poetry for some spare change?" and i was like, "no, i have to go..." knowing that I COULD have easily stopped and at least said something nice to her, instead of just rushing by like she wasn't important. So i got about 2 stores down, and felt the stirring in my heart to go back. I knew that I needed to go back and apologize to her and buy some of her poetry- her art, her voice. So I did. I went back, and instead of spare change, gave her a dollar and a huge apology, letting her know that she shouldn't be ignored and that I hope that other people will notice her today. And I told her that I would love to buy her poetry and that her voice mattered. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, and just smiled so big. I walked away with tears in my eyes, impressed by what God can do when we are obedient. So, here is her poem, her voice:

THE BUS

Too many poems to write. I have an idea.
Suppose it's fun to push pen in palm
Sitting on a bus looking around.

Somebody sees someone step on.
I'm taking my time before I'm gone.
Yesterday's past has haunted me once too often
in the sea.

Don't carry me before yourself or we'll both be
caught on a shelf.
Stuck in the back like a piece of junk, waiting to
be put in what, a trunk?

Open the door and I'll walk out, say goodbye but
do not shout.
Don't worry about me. I'm not alone
I'll catch a bust to take me home.

By Diane L. Bradburn