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At the Bus Stop, Always


He always asks how long

‘til the bus called Bookworm comes

I always tell him two or three minutes

To him it always seems like eternity


We pass time

He calls me poopy butt

Because he knows I will tickle him


We race up and down the sidewalk

He always wins


These little rituals are constant

Discussing the weather

The birds awakening in song


Then Bookworm approaches

He reaches up to me


A hug and kiss on the lips

Have fun, have a great day


Flashing lights, brake squeal

Thomas the driver,

A hip, old guy from Seattle

Greets with a smile

He calls us men


The school days

Start this way always

I blow a kiss

As he settles in the front seat

He waves bye

Bookworm roars down the street

Turns the corner


I know this time won’t last

It will seem like two or three minutes

Little rituals drip away



I will love him



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