on the bus

on the bus home,

really, home, where there's blueberries

in the side yard, and stacks of cucumbers,

tomatoes on the vine,

a black dog who won't bother to greet me.

there will be a husband who will hug me

and a bed covered with his clothing and 

dirty socks and I'll throw them off the other side.

home is where I belong,

in spite of the black dog who never bothers

to say hello, and the clothes

and dirty dishes.

home is where I belong.