We were poor before we had kids and then we were poorer

 

We were poor before we had kids 
and then we were poorer

This windstorm could blow a sprite away 
so in the fading-flower microbus
I deliver bright-eyed kids to school, 
our gift to teachers. Gusts of the gale 
like, kids say, a stampede of buffaloes
nearly push us from the road 
but by afternoon pickup, in the 
great outdoors, calm restores. 

With kids we head into hills snaking
up a road narrow as a noodle
patched like an asphalt quilt. 
Little hands gather pine boughs 
ripped from trees by violent air, 
settled everywhere like lacy green turf. 
Filled, the bus is pine fragrance in steel,
a forest on wheels. 

Returning down spaghetti road 
a Mercedes woman nearly hits us 
wrong side around a curve. But doesn’t. 
She waves, so sorry. Big smile—
Almost wiped out your family bye-bye. 
How absurd. To her we wish 
one reindeer turd.

In the cottage with branches and twine 
we build a tree, for free. Joy to this world!
Some day we’ll have money 
for a pre-cut symbol of Yule. 
Never so cool. 

…..

First published in Storyteller Poetry Review. Thank you editor Sharon Waller Knutson

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