Some of the best poems you'll read - Perigee

"Bus, 4 a.m."
by Amanda Reynolds
Just about now, when you forget to care
whether it's early or late,
the most unusual riders appear.
The dozers and shoppers, the reader and preacher
are gathering
like sprouts on a day before rain.
In my notebook I scribble them down:
The amputee lost his leg in a duel 150 years ago.
He told me so.
The man with the bible—not a preacher of course,
an editor and grammarian with his latest project.
The reader? She's hiding the joint
she's rolling in the pages of Gone With the Wind.
Someone said
write what you know,
but there's no sense in this.
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