Friday night, looking forward to a few days off,
I got on the bus and found my usual seat.
The window filled up with the same dry scenery:
Muddy brown river and yellow city lights.
Superimposed on this was a beautiful reflection.
Her face looked familiar.
Staring....
I was too weak to resist....
The river now was flowing
Crystal blue.
Lights were now
Shooting stars.
My heart was beating
Louder than the bus.
My breathing stopped.
Waiting for her to look up
From the book she held
(though never turning a page).
Perhaps her movement
Would give me a clue.
Through this stale bus stench
There must be sweet odors.
There I would find her.
As friendly words
Were about to burst out,
She closed her book;
Checked her watch;
Glanced around.
The scenery slowly stopped.
Her face in the window vanished.
She walked past me and out the door.
As she moved out of the window's frame,
I wondered:
Where was she going?
What was she thinking?
Why, at the last second,
Did she turn around
And look back?
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoésieThis is a collection of poetry. There is humor and there are poems that follow a tight structure. There are also some that are "free verse"
