Coming home

It happened at Logan as we crowded
to board the Woburn Express. The gray-haired
bus driver with a bad back motioned
for us to stow our own luggage into
the compartment below. There were huge
suitcases and golf clubs and duffel bags
and strollers. Then something happened:
a stocky passenger, fiftyish, stepped to
the curbside and, bending, grabbed and shoved
every piece of luggage into the belly of the bus.

After that, we all climbed aboard, the door
swished shut and we wheeled smoothly into
the Sumner Tunnel to merge on the other side
into I-93 rush hour traffic for the last leg home.
All the time I’m thinking: in a bunch of pretty-much-
all-white frequent fliers, the one stepping
up was black, and you may ask why
do I have to mention black and white,
so I reply yes, why indeed, and
what do you make of this?