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


A scarved huddle punctuated

By personal space


Collective gaze,


Ears tethered

By white, rubber rope,


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


No time

To talk about music.


Image courtesy of technodean2000, Flickr Creative Commons.


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