by David Feela
The bus, outfitted as a camper,
pulls into the site opposite mine.
It’s an old bus, out of service
forty years, maybe more,
but children still pour
from its swinging door
when the engine stops.
It’s the school of pine needles
and sumac, wild raspberries
and milkweed pods.
There’ll be rocks tossed
into the creek before lunch,
bushes thrashed with sticks
before nap time, and chasing each other
in circles at dusk.
After the sun disappears
marshmallows will catch fire
to light up the night sky.
David Feela's work has appeared in regional and national publications. He is a contributing editor and columnist for Inside/Outside Southwest and for The Four Corners Free Press. His first full length poetry book, The Home Atlas, is now available.
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