Through the dirty bus window
The past plays like a silent movie,
Scene after scene, never changing.

Memory contradicts memory,
A story told so many time
It becomes your truth.
Alone without a home,
Drifting back to the beginning,
High school hallways,
Smiles and promises,
Bent and broken.

A bus station in Purgatory,
The next scene already written.
Play your part;
Hope for a sequel.

5/29/17

This poem is partially based on the Second Alternate Prologue to Summer of a Doormouse.