Waiting for the Bus

A group of schoolkids joined the line
While waiting for the bus.
It seemed to take forever but,
Of course, they made no fuss.

As kids will do, they horsed around
To make the time go by,
When one, a blonde with glasses,
Somehow turned and caught my eye.

I smiled, for he reminded me
Of someone close back home.
He spoke to me in German, then,
Inspiring this poem.

For when I answered, poorly,
That I didn't understand,
His face lit up and "English?"
He responded, close at hand.

"New York," I said, at which
Another student whipped around,
His mouth agape at me,
A foreign creature they had found.

The bus arrived; they scampered on
And so did I, at last,
Another mem'ry in the bank
Of travels I've amassed.