Waiting for the bus
In the rain
Next to other people
Who don’t have their bus passes.
Waiting for the bus.
Such a pain!
Other people are talking to me
Mostly out of their asses.
Waiting for the bus,
Not a train.
Other people haven’t gotten the hint that my failure to acknowledge their attempts to converse mean I don’t want to converse.
Such is the transport of the masses.
Then the bus arrives
And my jaw falls limply.
She steps off, so graceful,
So beautifully simply.
I watch her meander
Like a flower in the breeze,
Warm and fragile like stained glass
And as innocent as a sneeze.
I mean to call out to her
So she might look my way
But I find my tongue and brain
Cannot agree on what to say.
I dumbly watch her disappear
And without so much as fuss
I’m standing by myself once more
Just waiting for the bus.
