Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I am so sorry it has taken more than forty years
To apologize on behalf of the 60-something
Sixth graders, teachers and chaperones
Who surely shaved years off your life
While you drove us to and from someplace
I've long ago forgotten
For a field trip memorable only
For the following moments
Shared on your bus
In the spring of ’71.
We had transistor radios enough
To fill your bus with the sounds
Of WABC, the biggest, brashest
Top Forty Station
In the biggest, brashest city
In the nation
Which would play its number one song,
At least once every half hour,
Sometimes more if the song was huge,
Which this one was–
In the midst of
Seven whopping weeks atop
The almighty
Music Power survey,
Sandwiched between
Another two weeks
At number two!
So every twenty-some minutes
Between Ike and Tina, the Temptations
And the Partridge Family
Those organ chords,
Wrenched the attention
Of every sixth grader, teacher, and chaperone
From whatever we were doing
To on cue
Scream:
JEREMIAH WAS A BULLFROG!

This poem first appeared in Mas Tequila Review.
Used here with permission.