Bus Stop Song

Bus stop

Open air, concrete waiting room

Invisible walls

Painted with a single, thin coat

Of 8AM September breeze

 

Middle Eastern man

Asian woman

White teenage boy

Black woman

Stand

A scarved huddle punctuated

By personal space

 

Collective gaze,

Descending

Ears tethered

By white, rubber rope,

Cascading

Into the palms of their hands

Monday morning melodies

And sound ascending

 

Summer’s exhale

Blows Sunday’s front page

And last week’s
After-school wrappers

Swirling with the half-crunchy, half-limp leaves

That made the first fall

 

Across the street

A young man with quickened, hopeful steps

And open ears

Grips a black, hinged handle

And carries his violin to the bus stop

 

Those hopeful steps halt

And morph into hopeful glances

At those around him

With foreheads invisibly anchored

But

No time

To talk about music.

 

Image courtesy of technodean2000, Flickr Creative Commons.

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