as my little yellow school bus goes through small neighborhoods and bustling cities, on my way back to the quiet comfort of my house, I look at all the other people through my stained window
what are they going to do today? do they have people in their life whom they love? hate?
why is this young adult woman walking by herself here? was she running an errand? maybe she had an appointment with her psychiatrist today, and she lives nearby the office, so she decided to walk there, and now she's heading back to her apartment, where she has a dog and two cats. that's a possibility, isn't it?
and what about that man in a suit, driving his car home beside me? is he going back to work? or is he heading home? does he have a family? does he like plants? is he happy?
these are things I'll likely never know, but as I make my way home, I can't help but ponder...
(does this even count as poetry anymore?)
