Bus Stop in Winter
Bundled in jackets
insulated with dead bird’s feathers
we waddle down the long icy streets to
where the school-bus stops.
And like penguins, we huddle for warmth,
pressed against one another in a sea of black coats.
Then the school-bus arrives,
painted grey from the snow.
As we board the bus,
its warm maw slides open to receive us,
and I can’t help but feel like we are being swallowed whole
by a great massive seal.