Bus

I settle in the smell of dirty stair runners and the bowels of decay
Calvert elementary school closed for renovations in 2007
An old brick schoolhouse tucked between Nebraska Highway and Holmes Lake
Named for its proximity to Calvert Street in what used to be a small town of its own
Now another square of the 100 square mile star city quilt
Surrounded by starter homes raised up on small hills against the otherwise flat expanse
They bussed us all out to a sports complex on the edge of town every day of 5th grade
It took nearly an hour to pick us up and cross the endless landscape
Of houses, strip malls, wheat fields, houses, strip malls, wheat fields
The hydraulics squeaking and crashing with every bump in the road
The bus driver didn’t let us wear seat belts so our asses would just barely lift up and
Out of the square vinyl benches cracked and peeled from years of wear
To expose patches of the spoiled cream foam hidden underneath
Small towns annexed and annexed, we’re somehow still in the same place
The smell of processed corn and diesel would mingle with the sharp plastic scent of the bus seats every time we passed the purina dog food factory
Which is how I always knew we were close
On the last day of the school year as the bus approached the end of the cul-de-sac where my house lay waiting
I had my first kiss with a boy named Alex who spent those empty bus rides next to me with his mp3 player and always let me put one of his headphones in
I tepidly kissed him on the cheek as I stood to leave
He said hey and called me closer with a finger
And planted one on my lips
So whenever I smell industrial animal feed, I think of Good Charlotte

Eddie Jolton lives in Buffalo, New York with his wife and two cats. His work can be found out loud at Caffe Aroma’s poetry open mic every other Wednesday. His poetry is informed by his experiences as someone in places he’s not supposed to be.