I see him today behind the wheel.
Not so long back he was standing
with a tie and ‘V’ neck jumper
watching his father drive the bus.
His father had long black hair,
that looked farm worn. I always
remembered the dirt in the nails
like he had to fix his bus every
so often. Today his son sits
behind the wheel of time.
He has a quieter tongue and eyes
that don’t steal the sunlight.
He takes your money with a light
palm, his nails cleaner, hair
groomed. The bus glides along,
as it carts the human cattle.
I haven’t seen his father in awhile.
I wonder if he is there, in his son’s
shoes, telling his him when the earth
needs to brake.
