Bus

Fur hats, long coats on a raggled old bus.
The smell of exhaust, and the sights of rust
Zooming past wood houses decrepit and aged.
Not a word is spoken, not hardly a gaze.

Over the bridge into the city, the churches can be seen.
What a marvelous sight, from this stoic scene.
By the school, and now past Kirov Square.
Grimaces seem audible by the nip in the air.

Pushing and shoving his way over to me.
“Here, show your ticket,” the conductor pleads.
Two rubles the fair, a bargain indeed.
Unless you have a pension and the economy recedes.

In my mind I turn to matters at hand.
My visa, the ministry, and the struggles of this land.
Days have at times just dragged so long.
Yet inside there’s peace, His strength my song.

When moments are compared how wild it seems.
One day on a train, alone, and reamed.
On other as I stroll my heart on the heights
Thankful to God, in his will heart delights.

On to the circus now, the ol’ beast wobbles on.
A turn and a jerk, and a blast on the horn.
From our path they escape to the safe of the walks.
No mercy, no fear the drivers eyes-locked.

What a ride I sigh as I step off to leave.
Brushing by faces all down and bereaved.
That old great beast now barrels away.
I, into the city, to the plans of the day.
-MEK