The Bus Ride
by Jackie Ruzas (has been serving a life sentence in Sing Sing, Attica, and presently in New York’s Wallkill State Prison).

The bus travels the thruway from past to future,
I sit by a window somewhere in between
Another trip, another transfer, another prison
At day’s end.

Summer’s lush green mantle covers the landscape
From roadside to mountains far away.
I didn’t know I loved green.
Green, the color of life, so hard to be in winter.
Praises summer for its chance to be.
She had green eyes and black hair.
I had green eyes and black hair.
She wore my ankle bracelet.
I wore her name, Camille, on my garrison belt.
We shared an eclair on a bench in Linden Park.
She took a bite. I took a bite. We kissed in
The middle, so long ago.

The billboard shows a Budweiser face, “America’s Favorite Beer.”
I didn’t know I loved beer.
An eleven year abstinence from the me who helped
Construct the Big Apple from scaffolds in the sky.
My throat recalls the taste of malt & barley.
Two adolescent fingers flashed outside the Tumble Inn
Bar, signaled two quart containers.
A climb over the fence, a dollar passed through
The back window to Tony’s trembling old hand, clinched it.
An hour later the fence was a trap that brought six stitches.

A rabbit! Was it a rabbit I saw scamper through the woods?
I didn’t know I loved rabbits.
His name was Bugs, and I got him from Ol’ Farmer Steve
Who now presses grapes to wine in heaven.
My uncle Jim didn’t want rabbit shit in the cellar,
So Bugs froze to death in the battered doghouse,
While I slept snug in my child’s cocoon.

I didn’t know I loved bus rides.

— Attica/Sing Sing ’83