Our bus driver has
Two strange habits.
He listens to
My broken narratives and
He keeps -
Cigarette bits, lighters, specks,
Mirrors - all the burned
Shiny, reflective things
In a well contained
Broken oil box.
One day if
You don't find me -
In office, classrooms, hearts
Of student - all the busy,
Crowded, tender things,
You will find me
Well contained
In our drivers box
Where he keeps-
All the broken things.
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