Tonight's Poet Corner: The Freest

The Freest
by Belinda Roddie

Three children bounce up and down
happily in the bus seats, blue cushions
and red faces, big smiles and small
fingers, groping at the cords that signal
for the next requested stop.

Their mother is tired, frustrated. She
grips the stroller with whitened
knuckles, looking out the window
once in a while to see if they are
any closer - any closer - to seeing
the pot of gold at the end of the
rainbow. Or, more accurately,
a pot of something savory
on the edge of a hot stove.

One of the children, with
dark curls and bright eyes,
screams, "Monkey! Monkey!"
over and over again, and perhaps
I should be annoyed, but instead,
I smile as I prop my poetry journal
against my knee, remembering the time

when I was their age and had no
filter. I said words, words, words,
what was on my mind, in an endless
stream of youthful consciousness,
all excitement when it came to
the world around me, without
worrying that someone, in the corner
or by the wall, was coldly judging me.

And in this way, I truly believe,
even if we are all bound by
restrictions, rules, and taboos -
watch your step, mind your manners,
look out for strangers, and don't
take the world for granted - that

the people who are the freest
in this society are the children
on the bus, counting invisible
monkeys as they press their noses
to the windows and leave foggy
laughter behind them.