Tuesday, 5 May 2020

1 Poem by Bruce Louis Dodson

We Are The People


On the bus

The vast majority of us

Stand next to others we don’t know

Strange faces . . . colors, smells, beliefs

The other people

Crowded on a pre-dawn morning

On our way to work

Then home again—and maybe later

Two days off

Or not.


We have known dismal, late night rides . . . almost alone

Or waiting for the next one coming by

We do this almost without second thought

Simple necessity of life and

Lack of money, chauffeurs, maids

We are the maids, chauffeurs

Blue and white collars

Making world go round

Clean up the mess—pay taxes

Fight the wars

For those

Who never stood beside us.

So it goes.


Bionote

Bruce Louis Dodson is an American expat living in Borlänge, Sweden. Recent work has appeared in: Foreign & Far Away Anthology, Trip of a Lifetime Anthology, Pirene’s Fountain, Tic Toc Anthology, Litro Magazine, Cordite Poetry Review, Buffalo Almanac,  So It Goes,  Maintenant, Permafrost, Whitefish Review, Pure Slush, and Dash Literary Journal.



No comments:

Post a comment