SILVER LINE PATRIOT
By Margaret Jane Jones
Breathless, wearing combat boots,
desert camouflage, and
dragging army issue duffel bags—
she climbs aboard at
Boston Airport’s Silver Line Bus Stop.
rain-washed, spirited, strong—
a young and lean five-foot-seven
admired by us past-prime,
Nodding gallantly, the strong, lean
gauntlet driver of Bean Town streets,
grabs her bags and swings them into the rack.
Headed home for Christmas?
She grins and drops the fare into the box.
From Afghanistan to Vermont,
if I can get there.
She turns, searching for an opening in the isle,
packed to standing room only.
She moves toward us—a sea of tired travelers
perking-up with this drama, and
parting in warm welcome.
HEY ARMY! Come back here!
bellows the king of burly drivers
while glancing at his side mirror,
edging his overload into traffic,
heading for South Station.
With an about-face,
she retraces her steps.
Your money’s no good here,
with eyes brimming.
Then, this big-hearted Silver Line Patriot,
slaps her hand with a clapping high-five —
simultaneously returning full fare.
© Margaret Jane Jones 2011-2013