The Revolution

Sometimes I see buses of babies being
pushed through the Yard.
Nine, twelve, sometimes fifteen babies
tethered to the side of a cart arranged
like a display of cabbages at the farmers’ market.

At least when I ride the Number One Bus
I can ring the bell to request a stop.
But those babies are without recourse
and all they can do is hang on the side of the cart
like handbags on shoulders
or bags of cotton candy. Their sitter is the vendor:
“would you like to buy some babies?”

What I would like, sometime, to see
is a bus full of babies begin
to realize the indignity of the situation,
to see a bus full of babies ring the bell,
hop off at their stop, breaking free.
Go babies, go! to change humanity.