She gave us each 3990 minutes that year,
even Jenny, the fat retarded girl who sat front-seat
I was a kid then, worried about having the right shoes
And, like everyone else, we avoided her
Like Jenny
Not as bad, but we all avoided them both
Afraid they’d misconstrue a smile as an invitation for friendship
Which would make having the wrong shoes, a minor problem
This girl was the first stop after school, and the last stop each morning
Adding ten minutes to each of our mornings; ten more to our afternoons
But not my grad year
That fall, the bus didn’t drive to her house,
her soggy, tired driveway
We all knew why
We heard the adults’ whispered rumours
Her mother found her a few hours after they fought,
No, it was the younger brother found her, they shared a room
She gave us each 3990 minutes that year,
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