At Bus Stops on Thanksgiving Day by Donal Mahoney
Before dawn, people
who work on Thanksgiving Day
wait in the wind for a bus
to arrive or maybe not.
It’s too cold to talk
so the people stand
like minutemen and plan
a revolution that would shock
nice families who drive by later,
children tucked in scarves
and mittens, laughing
all the way to Nana’s house
for turkey, gravy, stuffing
and later in the day
a ballerina of whipped cream
twirling on pumpkin pie.
Thanksgiving is the day
America asks for seconds
and sorts its servers
from the served.
Before the writer succumbed to home delivery
of the newspaper, he for many years drove out
early on Thanksgiving morning to buy the newspaper.
That is when he would see older Black women
bundled up and waiting for the bus to go to work
that day, largely to private homes in the suburbs,
to prepare sumptuous repasts for those who could
afford to pay them to do so. Sometimes the ladies
were paid enough and sometimes probably not.
But it’s a memory forever inscribed in his mind.
A VERY APROPOS poem from Donal Mahoney 🙂 Happy Thanksgiving everyone 🙂