The bus stop doesn’t care
about your grassroots polemic
of impolite rhetoric,
citing shrewdness or compassion,
scarcity or excess
fair play or “opportunity”
tradition or progress
pedagogy or bedtime story
the little indoctrinations
of little men with littler ideas,
whose vote can smell your wallet.
It stands, solid and unconfused
merely offering shelter
for folks just longing
for home.
If we are made in God’s image and God sings, then we should be singing, too.
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Rob's Lit-Bits 
You sure know how to handle some big words 😉
Like…’bus’, ‘care’, ‘or’? Thanks all the same!
Yuh, and “grassroots polemic” and “pedagogy” and “indoctrinations” 😉
; ^ )
Rob, this poem is very neat. Your sense of humor shines through these words, but the truth to your words on the bus stop is also all very sound. I have grown up riding buses into Seattle from my home and passing some very dirty neighborhoods. The bus stop is a meeting ground, it is a drug dealing place, it is a comedy show, it is a resting ground, and it is a place where people have a common goal of getting home. From, Luke Bartlett
Thanks, Luke. These little “forced communities” are fascinating places, kind of like elevators. We make them what they can be as we bring our unique quirks and sensibilities to them. It’s like…we’re all in this together, let’s have fun with it.