Fourth Avenue Bus 1986

Soggy six o’clock sunrise.

My feet sloshing puddles,

I step into the shelter smells:

Wet wool mingles with Old Spice and sleep;

There’s a topnote of Export A’s. Unfiltered.

I lean smokeward to sneak a hit off the stranger’s habit.

Oh, why did I quit?

Coffee steam breathes me awake.

Air brakes screech, doors creak, leaky raincoats squeeze in -

Hey take your turn, man; I’m headed for work too.

We wear different suits, that’s all.

L’air Du Temps wafts up front, Ballerina on Board!

Doug the Driver slurps his Dr. Pepper in the mirror and winks.

at all the girls, his eyes atwinkle.

He’s old,

maybe fifty.

with a roguish mouth, lopsided and lush,

and waves of grey hair.

He belts out a bold baritone

“Oh What a Beautiful Mornin’ ”.

I take the harmony

as

Doug makes a left at the next green

and points our rig towards Oklahoma!