Truck is always close behind:
when their bus turns
onto the expressway
boy in the last row sits with his ruddy
face pressed against
the back window and
crows
out when he sees the pale head
turn onto the road.
Body slinks behind
second later like grudging cat on
leash
peppered with holes that
sluggish shadows shift
between: most boys don't watch the holes any more, prefer to
sit four to a seat right behind the old bus driver -
hound him into switching the radio station.
The girls don't, either
the loudest lady
announces:
Mom says
the truck is headed for the countryside
Final Word on the matter. Truck:
abreast of us as long as we can remember - definitely since we
needed to get up on our knees press fingers against the cold
panes of glass to peer down at
the cargo inside:
way too long to still
capture greedy eyes that
devour the world
in chunks.
More exciting things to do -
stomachs grumbling
rumbling on the ride home, and the brown
bags: passed over at lunch
to play tag are stuffed, dripping with juices
with sausage salami,
marshmallows
ham sandwiches.
Handful of kids still turn their
backs to us and suffer
cold, squished rosy noses to look
down through the
gaps of the cargo
space.
Wait long
enough,
see a pink snout and two black
pits staring
back at you.
Madeleine Semple
Grade: 11 / Sec. V
Martingrove Collegiate Institute
Etobicoke, ON
“I take the same route to school every morning. As I walk, a truck inches through the traffic beside me. It’s full of pigs in the morning and empty in the afternoons: I may be a proud bacon eater, but it always makes me a little uncomfortable.”
Bio
Madeleine Semple is a grade eleven student living somewhere in the wilds of the GTA. She is an avid Fleetwood Mac listener and a hopeless daydreamer. She writes poetry to make sense of the world when everything is tangled.