Moment

Dec 15 2019

The posse

of middle school girls

swept into the cross-town bus

in a swirl of giggles

and winter air.

They took possession of the big back seat

as if it was theirs all along;

its unfenced space,

commanding view

straddling the aisle.

Some perched, some sprawled,

elbowing and jostling

as they sorted-out alliances,

snickering and whispering

while scrolling their phones.

Set loose from class

they were pent-up ponies,

prancing free

in a hay-sweet field,

strong and glowing

on gangly legs.

Poised

at that moment of adolescence

when friends are forever

and you'll never forget.

And when all you can hope

is that things will get better

which surely they must.

The moment

that 30 years hence

they will quietly envy.

Regretting how short it was.

How youth is wasted

on the immortal young.

There was an interesting interview on this weekend's The Sunday Edition about how we behave on public transit: the sociology of the bus; the protocols and conventions that determine our comportment in this familiar public space. At one point, the interviewee Amy Hanser said people were very predictable in how they sort themselves: who sits near the driver, who gravitates to the single seats, and who occupies that wide row beneath the back window that straddles the aisle. I immediately knew the answer to that last one, and that planted the seed of this poem. Which is an odd one because it has nothing to do with any recent personal experience: it has literally been decades since I last rode a city bus!

Here's the link: https://www.cbc.ca/radio/thesundayedition/where-we-sit-on-a-bus-and-how-we-behave-says-a-lot-about-us-1.5393092