Poetry

Woman on the bus

Woman on the bus   Waiting, I look to see if she’s there as we approach sit more upright in my seat. She doesn’t always get on but today she fills my eyes and mind again. Sitting in her usual space near the driver, she only travels a short distance. Wearing black, accentuating her hair she ties it up to expose the nape of her neck and I’m sixteen years old. Some days I wonder what her voice sounds like what her name might be. On dull days her reflection lingers in the glass. Seeing her for a few minutes…

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