Poem Away, novelinee, V

Dancing While Waiting for the Bus

                                  

When I was very young, we kids would dance

each vibrant morning waiting for the bus.

With vim and vigor, we would skip and prance.

It made us feel, oh so, victorious.

With verve, we’d polka on our country road,

while vigilantly watching for our ride.

But the vibrations warned us like a code.

Like a thin vapor, dancing quickly died.

Now, I’m vaguely old, I still dance and hide.