Ebenezer Scrooge, Bus Driver

It’s my space, right? Yeah. I always want to focus on the meaning of Christmas, the message that was brought. But I pass through the holiday season, always, with an intense mix of emotions. My thoughts and focus move around a lot. Quite frankly, I am at a point in my journey where that’s just how it is. I do wish all the magic and sparkle of the season to all who experience it. I don’t, and that is quite all right.

It is not cold today; it is warm for December in New York City. It is pouring rain though. This morning, as I was boarding the crosstown bus, a woman who had gotten on before me had a problem. Her transfer didn’t work; it was rejected. Now, the MetroCard system has much that is really wonderful about it. However, as with anything that requires mechanical assistance (just like anything that requires human interaction), glitches and errors occur. Usually, when something like that happens, a driver will sort of say “It’s okay, go ahead”; I mean, at least 95% of the time that is what happens. This morning, though, in the pouring rain, this driver decided that nope, if she wanted to ride she had to pay the fare. From First to Second Avenue we got to listen to another woman argue with the bus driver about how things like this are always happening, and he should just let the woman ride the bus. And he just kept on repeating, over and over and over again, that she had to pay the fare. The woman with the malfunctioning transfer very simply and quietly got off the bus at Second Avenue to stand under the bus shelter and go through her handbag to attempt to find the change ($2.00 worth) to pay her fare (she hadn’t found it while the other two were arguing about her). I guess the MTA hasn’t got a goodwill among people policy.

~~~~~~~~~~

The place that calls me
in words through all the ages
is fathomless
beyond measurement in depth and beauty
I wonder at the need in me
to go and walk there
though I have no birthright
only a soul responding to music
sung by stones for centuries
an imperative of language

~~~~~~~~~~

Erratic now in mood and thought
I donate this time to its owners
pray that it stays a gift for their hearts
await answers baffled
the old insistent voices returning
claiming that in living life
I have proven them true
so messages outside intention
reach from lonely nights of long ago
laced with familiar poison

My inner child is six years old!

Look what I can do! I can walk, I can run, I can
read! I like to do stuff, and there’s a whole
big world out there to do it in. Just so long
as I can take my blankie and my Mommy and my
three best friends with me, of course.

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