The bus,

stretched long,

many passengers,

all kempt in their own places.

There’s an accordion midriff,

for turns,

where she sits,

silent and motionless,

not a blemish in sight.

 

Postured in a ninety degree angle,

unbending,

she,

never seeming to make eye contact,

no smile,

no headphones,

She steps tight,

light,

precise,

to depart the same seat.

 

Flash blue NIKE,

she sneaks,

brown swoosh,

at the bottom of tight blue jeans,

and a thin tan jacket,

mid cut,

long enough to hide her butt.

 

A dream that comes and goes,

our carriage laments her passing,

but continues,

regardless,

shrugging off memories

of the princess that graced our trudge home.