bus poetry or nothing of the kind
Wrinkled linen in a purple only described as eggplant. Catching glimpses in shop windows. Minutes to get from 27th and madison to 40th and 8th. Success at the cost of comfort. One of these days she’ll bring her jogging shoes, shorts, and a loosely fitted shirt that has her varsity number on the back. 32 dashing across avenues. Leaps over discarded papers and foul smelling puddles. No need to caustiously hustle past people. Just run. Spin move needed to avoid rolling luggage to the shins. Side step strollers and giant shopping bags. A game of my own avoiding this obstacle and that. Thinking your faster than you are. Doesn’t even matter. Just to have those city streets and that blurred reflection. Plenty of time to stand in line for the bus. Wide smile just thinking of a run one day to come.
For now country towns with quiet intersections and easily navigated sidewalks. She can’t wait to get off this bus and run.