Poem: It’s Easy

I thought growing up was leaving childish things behind,
As if I had somehow changed my mind

From the mind that roamed when I was nine.

Am I looking for a sign?

No, I’m standing at the bus stop,
The beautiful bus stop,
Where people with bodies stand
And demand or countermand

Or just look out for the bus.

So why all this fuss?

It’s not as if it’s easy, but

It’s easy.

3 December 2006