Bus Stops

When the wheels hit the road,

I will be headed back home.

Alone, battered, and bruised,

I can hang my hat on the fact

that I gave it my best shot.

The winters were cold.

The summers were hot,

but I wouldn’t trade those tough

days for I’ve learned a lot from

the lessons they taught.

If I told you I’ve spent most

nights thinking about you

and the times we shared,

would you believe me?

What if I told you that I was

once blind, but you helped

me see that life moves

faster after every bus stop?

These memories are all I got.

All that I once owned mean

nothing to me when you set

my soul free. These pictures

I keep in my empty wallet

take me back to sunsets, frozen

in time. The bus driver grabbed

my ticket, and I take the last open

seat. I remember the hot asphalt

I walked on; the life I had, I will

surely miss it. Those moments

blew away in the dust, but I still

hold the rail right. I hold onto

every minute we shared –

when it was just us. I wish

I knew that there would be

a last time the first time

we met. That would have

changed everything and would

have saved me this pain. I try

to look out the window, but all

I see is the reflection of a man

with regret in his eyes. When

the woman next to me asked

why I was crying, I just smile

and tell her that I am fine.

I tell her that this is my stop,

and I must get off. I don’t know

how much time has passed,

but I knew I couldn’t make

it last. After all these years,

I returned to where I belong.

I left home as a young boy,

without a plan, and I came

back home as a grown man.