the yellow bus

you remember
the gold
mustard colored bus,
it's hard
green seats
of vinyl.
how cold the rails
were, the window
always stuck.
the heat never
reaching the back.
you remember how
it chugged
up the hills,
as the driver
who also
served food in
the cafeteria,
still in her
hair net, smoked
a cigarette,
grinding out
the gears,
staring into the long
wide mirror
to yell
at someone running
down the aisle,
or throwing
pencils like arrows
into the air.
you can smell
the bus, you can hear
it in your sleep,
feel it's bounce,
it's sway.
see the bobbing
heads
of half asleep
children as it took
you towards school
and the rest of
your tomorrows.