More Yellow Bus Poetry
This morning one of the kids I pick up and take to Boise Elliot, called attention to my bald spot. Now I look in the mirror every day and from my angle I am not bald! Thin sure, grey, but bald? So I wrote this poem named after the kid, Aries.
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Aries
"Hey, bus driver, you have a bald head!"
said Aries with the perfect hair.
(What a way to start my day.)
It isn't fair to react to what the kid just said.
"I'll have you know, I've more hair,
than my father ever had."
And with that, I shook the curls
I wished that were still there,
Hit the brakes, when he'd stopped looking
And launched him through the air.
Posted by movermike on
Friday November 2, 2007 at 5:59pm
One morning, while I was still in a deep sleep, the telephone rang. The school secretary wanted to know if I could do the morning bus run.
The bus should have left, like, five minutes ago.
I rapidly got dressed, ran a wash cloth over my face and ran a brush through my hair.
Grabbed my purse and headed out the door.
It was still dark when I picked up my first rider, a little girl, who didn't respond to my "Good Morning" sat in the seat right behind me.
As we bounced down the road, it began to get day light, and I heard a little voice behind me, say......
"Boy, your hair is wealy, wealy, watty."
I guess Mike, your wig, comb over costume would have come in handy for those early morning rushes.