humble bus

As I travel on this territorial, terrifying, tool of transportation
I often wonder
Does this sea of faces ever wave?
Is that a person I see, or just a number?
On some government census, will we ever come to our senses?
Wake up!
That wallet you just picked from his pocket belongs to a father
That could be your dad struggling to provide before the city cuts off the water
Now when you open up that tattered bill fold and see his ID
look underneath and see the family portrait, that’s my point precisely
To the business man you better hope its not raining, you may drown
because your nose is so high in the air you can’t smell the stench of poverty in town
That is your neighbor.
His DNA is woven together into the tapestry of life
the life that you share in, here in lies the tragedy of life
We are so consumed with our to do list that as we do this or do that
we ignore the humanness that resides within those in whom we come in contact
Wait.
I just shot myself in the foot
I’ve been traveling on this bus providing my so called poetic input
but I didn’t even raise a finger unless I was pointing it at others
This means I’m no better than my sisters and my brothers
we are on this bus, we have flaws and vulnerabilities
I think I just discovered I’ve been hiding my humilities.

Dillon Darnell
Responding To Literature
Literary Response to “On This Bus”