Chopin Rides the Bus

I can’t subjectively look at him
(or anyone for that matter,
but especially not him)
while listening to Chopin play
in the early afternoon,
sitting next on me on the bus
on our way home from school.
And it makes me think that maybe
the famed piano man
should’ve stayed dead,
or else his music ought to be banned
for taking a boy who before was
just a boy
and changing him into someone I’m now positive
I’ve seen before in a waking dream.
I’ve seen the way he stares out the little window
with no particular emotion on his face,
lit by the soft glow emitted from the day-old snow
while it mingles with light from the invisible sun,
watching as the cars go by.

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