Road Conversations

I can't remember if I've mentioned on here how much time I spend on the public transit system here in Chicago. A LOT. At the very least, two hours a day. Which is average for a commute. But it seems like I spend an awful lot of time on a train or bus in this city. Mostly because I do.

Today on my way home, something happened that made me pull out my journal and fill the last to empty pages with this poem. Thought I'd share it. Not my best poem, but I like it nonetheless.

Dirt Road Conversations

Something happened on the bus

That reminded me of home

Two buses drove one after another

Mine in the back vying for front

She pulled up next to him

Opened the door

And started talking to him

During a red light

And I had visions of old men

Stopping on a dirt road

Rolling down their windows

And having a nice chat

Alone and uninterrupted

Until another farmer

Or a teenager drove up

Wanting to continue on their way

A tip of the farmer’s cap

A friendly parting word

And they’d be on their way

Until the next farmer approached

These bus drivers weren’t friends

She just wanted to tell him

She would be passing him

But it made me smile nonetheless

And think fondly of dirt road conversations

Little things like this are always happening, sometimes they are bigger than others, but there are often little sightings of home in this city. And it's these little things that make me feel connected not just to Chicago, but to my roots back in Nebraska. Because no matter where we end up, there are somethings that are just in human nature to do, like start talking to someone in a vehicle pulled up next to you.  It helps me not feel so homesick.

Until next time.