Waiting For the Bus

A group of schoolkids joined the line While waiting for the bus. It seemed to take forever but, Of course, they made no fuss. As kids will do, they horsed around To make the time go by, When one, a blonde with glasses, Somehow turned and caught my eye. I smiled, for he reminded me Of someone close back home. He spoke to me in German, then, Inspiring this poem. For when I answered, poorly, That I didn't understand, His face lit up and "English?" He responded, close at hand. "New York," I said, at which Another student whipped around, His mouth agape at me, A foreign creature they had found. The bus arrived; they scampered on And so did I, at last, Another mem'ry in the bank Of travels I've amassed.