Waiting for the Bus to Leave

We watch white rabbits race randomly by
across from the benches that we occupy.
We sullenly sit at this post-midnight hour,
neither admitting the bewitching power
of silently spying the creatures at play
while we’re whiling our time ’til we finally say
the few words we have left to speak between us
when I say goodbye and you board that damned bus.

We’re waiting for the bus to leave.
After that we can begin to grieve
or secretly admit we’re relieved
how we’ve been separated through fate’s sieve.

The night is old; we feel older still
and yet now we know there is time left to kill
as the evening wears on and we finally let lie
all the tension between us that has yet to die.
We had tried for so long to maintain all the love
that we had for the other but I’m now not sure of
just what we were fighting for all of those weeks
since we’re now at the Finish with no words to speaks

and we’re waiting for the bus to leave.
You’ll be rolling away. I will be relieved.
We can both separately act like the bereaved
and we were victims, complaining to any who would believe.

Any minute now, the bus will finally board.
You’ll be gone. We’ll be done. I’ll have cut the cord.
We’ll be free of each other; our lives can restart.
I’ll take up a hobby. You can start selling art
or whatever it is that you wanted to do.
I won’t know; I won’t hear from you
unless – after this – we again choose to talk,
but that is an option at which I will balk.

We’re waiting for the bus to leave.
Now may look happier, looking back, than we can conceive.
Sometimes you cannot judge destiny’s weave.
Maybe you and I will know more, after you leave.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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