© 2023 by MCLA Spires. 

A Highway Pantoum

March 5, 2018

Buses are lonesome beasts.
When there’s snow outside, the quiet is deadly.
Once, I was small as a strawberry seed—
The lines on the road slowly faded away.

 

When there’s snow outside, the quiet is deadly.
Three years, I drove alongside my mother.
The lines on the road slowly faded away.
Now, we can only make phone calls.

 

Three years, I drove alongside my mother.
When she sang little lullabies, I offered the harmony.
Now, we can only make phone calls.
I’ll hear her when the party line is free.

 

When she sang little lullabies, I offered the harmony.
Give her a glass and ask for “Stormy Weather.”
I’ll hear her when the party line is free.
I bought my ticket, headed for Tulsa.

 

Give her a glass and ask for stormy weather.
My mama will show you a real good fight.
I bought my ticket, headed for Tulsa—
Just one nervous night shadow.

 

My mama will show you a real good fight—
She never learned not to spin so fast in circles,
Just one nervous night shadow.
I’ll keep my eyes open as long as I can.

 

I never learned not to spin so fast in circles—
Apart, we can set each other straight.
I’ll keep my eyes open as long as I can—
Buses are lonesome beasts.

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