In my thirty something years I had a recurring dream

I am elementary school-aged, running slow motion anxious to the end of my neighbor's driveway where the yellow school bus stops every day to board us

For no good reason I'm running late - I need his bus to wait, just wait

Mr. Klein, I do not like this boss 

your gruff authority, the rigid expectations of behaving

like a good girl for school boarding this bully

Mr. Klein sees me, through his wire rimmed glasses out his bus driver's window

watches me running toward him aiming for goodness and our eyes meet 

I struggle to move my legs across the street in front of his bus, panting, finally to board 

but he swings the doors to shut me out and squeals forward, passing me

so I must miss

Mr. Klein is driving past me

at least I have slow motion

I look up so our eyes lock so

I give him the finger