I liked the seat beside the glass.
I watched the whole wide morning pass.
The yards, the dogs, the dripping line,
The little store with crooked sign,
The man who swept his porch each day,
The girl whose cat would run away,
The field behind the Baptist church,
The crows that lined the fence and perch.
The bus would rattle, jump, and groan.
It never felt quite still as home.
My lunch box bumped against my knee.
The world went rolling by to me.
I always thought when houses slid
Past fogged-up glass and sleepy kids
That every door we rattled by
Had stories tucked up there inside.
I still think that was likely true.