This is the first 150 or so words of a poem I wrote after being on this bus, watching the situation unfold, taking notes and fantasizing what the bus driver seemed to be feeling.
She is a small, intense woman who seemed to relish taking care of her fellow Chicagoans and driving a monster bus.
You can see the entire poem and one other, Old River Town, on the Poems in Progress page.
You may notice that I have turned one of the posts into my home page. I have also updated it a bit if you want to take a peek. It is now the “owls know…” page.
First time I pulled my 5’1” frame into this articulated monster & made it move a mere block with real passengers on board,
I was terrified.
But today, five years, three months and six days later, this is more home than the
ramshackle, half boarded-up, graffiti-ridden place where I nuke Wendy’s and spend my nights.
Enjoying this beautiful September day, blue skies, 80s, strapped in, checked in, ready
to flow through the living streets of Chicago.
But almost from the start, saw no chance of flowing today.
Barely two hours in and hit gridlock, the almost total, NYC kind of gridlock
that cocky Eastern town
never could control, even had to make laws about.
Chicago always knew better, even back in buggy days,
knew how to flow, move just right, slide on by, scoot right in, figure the angles,
find space, clear for the other guy.