Sunday Afternoon Bus Ride through Queens

Q-58 Ltd from Flushing

Tall Vanilla Latte in my hand

Asians, Latinos, Anglos,

And one mentally disturbed child, autistic, perhaps

Bump, rattle, bump over the blvd

This Sunday’s salvation is the empty seat next to me

I’m all extroverted out

Need some introverted time within

Under the Van Wyck

Highway of death

World's Fair flying saucers have landed to the north

As the child now offers blood curdling screams

reminiscent of an animal trapped in the wild

Is that Mandarin, Cantonese, or Korean I hear?

Definitely a Spanish newspaper in front of me

The Lemon Ice King of Corona

Rules from its throne at 108 St and 52 Ave

Saris, shawls, and sweat suits grace Corona’s sidewalks

Satellite dishes straddle rooftops

As if there is a world with news

Outside of Queens

Mexican and Dominican storefronts now line Corona’s streets

As LEDs advertise CHUZOS

But Asian characters still adorn signs

Red and yellow billboards of ethnicity

Across Queens Blvd, making way down Grand

Home is not much farther

Soon, familiar sights and sounds of Ridgewood

No different, but still home

(I  received the Second Place People's Choice Poetry (Friday) Award at the 2017 West Virginia Writers Conference for this poem)