To The Bus Stop By tex norman

I watch them walking. Clearly
they’re together, they’re a group.
Even from this distance I
can see that something isn’t
right. To me they look like kids
forced to walk on mattresses.
As they get closer I can
see their bodies are confused.
One rising shoulder is
shocked that the left one has gone
south. Each elbow has a mind
of its own. Some feet step high,
and proud, and purposefully
as if they were supporting
a trumpet player in a
marching band. The other feet
are baffled, because the toes
are locked in this hot debate
and every ballot ends with a
tie. On each and every vote
the little piggy abstains.
One word passes through my mind.
From here they’re easy to love
and difficult to care for.