My Load

By George F. Horne

I drive a school bus every day.
My route is forty miles.
If asked about my load, I'd say,
"They're all in need of smiles."

My load consists of every kind:
The timid and the strong.
Let me recall them in my mind,
As we roll right along.

A big, tall strapping football star;
A bandsman in the rear;
A boy with roaches in a jar,
A pencil on his ear.

An addict's child, who quietly cries
Along the way to school.
Is later taunted by other guys,
Insensitive and cruel.

A vagabond; a gifted child
Sit one beside the other.
A dark-haired youth with manners mild
Assists his crippled brother.

A mother-soon-to-be just stares.
(I wonder what she's thinking.)
an angry young man sits and glares .
Remembers Mother's drinking.

Some country kids take life in stride:
They never seem dejected.
A few are leaders-filled with pride
And by their peers respected.

A barefoot lad with dirty face--
No breakfast has he eaten
One girl sits quietly in her placed
The night before was beaten.

The others . individuals, too:
Hispanic, Black and Asian;
Three Indians who knows .. (maybe Sioux?);
The rest of them Caucasian.

I drive a school bus every day.
My route is forty miles.
If asked about my load, I'd say,
"They're all in need of smiles."

It's up to me to set the pace:
To cheer them all the while.
So as they run in Life's great race,
They run hard every mile.

@ 2001 Copyright George F. Horne. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.