Shantih Journal 2.1 - Page 52

My Friend The Bus Michael Minassian My friend’s wife called me and complained about her husband: “He thinks he is a bus and when we drive around town, stops at every corner,” she said. “Then he belches black smoke and paints advertisements on his back “ The next day she phoned again and complained about the poems he buries in the back yard, beautiful sonnets he claims are drowning out the past. 52