ROCHAMBEAU
Slowing as the school bus in front of me arrives to a flock of parents and children on the sidewalk. As we come to a stop I wonder why the parents are present. This was not the way of my bus riding days. We were unsupervised flocks. No adults in our brood. Under watchful eyes, children embark, sliding into vinyl seats as parents wave to them from their concrete perches. Children wave back through smears and smudges. As the bus driver releases the brakes and turns off the flashing reds a dad in Adidas sweatpants plays rock-paper-scissors with his son through the smears and smudges. Through my own smudged windshield I see only one side of this game. Dad loses with the biggest smile. Maybe this is the reason why parents wait with their kids.
This is an example of a Prose Poem which acts like a poem but is in a format that looks like a paragraph and is created with sentences rather than lines. Confused?
A Picture and a Poem 