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Rated: E · Poetry · Biographical · #1235457
I missed the bus, but I doubt the driver missed me.
"Shea Heights, St. John's?
is that what you said?
Hell yes I know where that is."
The hill folk are backward
for 19th century Newfoundlanders,
and here it is well into the 21st.

I lit a smoke and took another sip
of an ice cold Budweiser.
I was in the Legends Bar by gate 16C
of the Halifax Airport.

The longest walk I ever had in my life
was when I missed the bus
over on New Gower Street by the park
and had to climb that hill
for two miles to see my girlfriend.

You wouldn't believe
how many different ways
they have to say
"bugger off Yank,"
after stopping to ask if
you need a ride!

I must have leaned against
the big codfish
painted on the cement wall
for an hour catching my breath
and lamenting hateful folks.

I realized my Boston Bruins
jersey was causing trouble
in the middle of
Toronto Maple Leaf Hockey country.
Maybe that's why the driver
looked at me and waved
as the bus passed me.

"Shea Heights, St. John's?
I believe that is another place
I will never go again
of my own free will.
Too cold. Too many memories.
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