San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly

Terry McCarty

AMARILLO '74

 

The bus is waiting.

Everything out of the motel room
Where I lost a sort of virginity
Spending a night with people
Other than family.
Quick breakfast.
Pay bill with money
from hiding place
inside my right shoe.
 
Look across the street
At the convicts in City Jail
Using a mirror to flash
SOS signals at the girls
In our high school band.
 
The bus is waiting.
I wish I could stay.