Still Life Poetry

I look out the bus window,

and stare at the people, walking by.

You can look, but do you feel?

and Have you ever seen somebody

on the street,

wondered where they've been,

wondered how their life is,

wondered where they're going,

or what their favorite color is?

As I look out the bus window,

and stare at the people,

all walking around with their heads

buried in turtle shells

and invisibility cloaks,

As I look out the window and look at

the clouds floating by, the snow melting,

the clock ticking, the man laughing,

the woman and child trying to get buy,

the teenager with a Mercedes-Benz,

it hits me like a burst of inspiration,

a flash of lightning.

Who we are,

what we live,

is just Still Life Poetry.