John Tozzi
Passenger Receipt

On a bus, I read about
Red Cross workers who
weren't trying to save the world,
only the people in it.
I found my name scratched in the plastic wood
paneling beside the seat.
Someone else had signed it there.
I'm always on buses in October,
it seems, visiting friends
who some time ago became strangers.
but I go anyway, because I recognize
the stations and the people in them;
a family of strangers, worth saving.

<< Back to Issue 5, 2003