The Short Bus

by Judyette Clarke

Blessed are those
who ride the short bus
who doodle rocket ships
in the margins of their papers
and refuse to do math
whose nuts and screws came loose
long time ago
and scattered among the edges
of the machine
for if it weren’t for us
there’d be no one
to pee upon the walls of convention
to stand outside and refuse to go in
for if everyone was in there,
who’d let them all out
when they drove themselves crazy?

Judyette Clarke