Why a ripe field, why not a desert?
Nature makes no busses.
Nothing compares
save mother opossums
or grubs filled with wasp grubs.
But neither would welcome
—solicit—a stranger.
Someone makes busses,
and then someone
buys them, then sells again
—and again and again—
to anyone. Someone
(riders hope) repairs them.
But Nature, with all her might,
opposes busses.
Nature would pull them back
into the ground. You can’t
grow a bus. Well, maybe
ubiquity fools us.
Once a Seattle bus,
here, out front, parked,
pulled away, traced our block,
parked again, then circled
again, parked, then circled
again, then left. Novel,
but not unnatural.
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