I remember the picture, stuck on the side of the bus;
And the big windows, with people looking out;
And how, as I walk through the folding doors, the driver asks for my money,
And he accepts it indifferently,
A whale steadily moving forward,
It's lets out noises that all around can hear.
The people watched it;
The water stepped aside in respect,
And the crustaceans breathed a sigh of relief.
Oh, when it was slow, it threw itself into hiding,
Even a GPS could have no ETA;
Avoiding passengers at bus stops,
with a "not in service" sign,
My kwalos, you are not here,
I'm waiting like white-washed walls of detention,
The fresh spring air can not console me,
Nor the distant sounds of whales.
If only I could spur you onward here to me,
My lame stallion, my beached orca.
Into the empty space I speak the words of my regret:
I, with no hand in this matter,
Wish I'd put my eggs elsewhere.
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