Bad things in the back
of the bus: hormones,
muscles, and make-up.
I sat near the front
and prayed through
the hour that took me
from farm to concrete
school. The demons
were inbred, cross-
currents of cousins
who grew beards
too soon, laughed too
loud, with stains
across their abdomens.
I closed my eyes most
of the way and missed
the wild onion groves
and skunk cabbage.
I missed my mom.
The long ride was a sermon
of heavy metal and bad
grammar. My first day
on the bus, they dropped
me at the wrong school:
left in the care of Jesus.
The next day I got off
where I belonged.
