Yellow School Bus
by Ken Hada


On rainy mornings too
the big bus crawls
to a squeaky stop
the creaking sound
of a door opening
a strange yellow world.
Cautiously you climb
the stairs one step
at a time, like a puppy
lost in a crowded pen
your eyes careen
confusing horizons
scanning here or there
until the driver’s call
– your father’s hand
touching you forward.






Copyright 2019 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.