Frayed Plume

she got on about three stops after I did I was sure she was conversant in ballet by the way she danced up the steps and delicately deposited her passage into the device next to the driver her fingers were disproportionately long and far too elegant for such tiny hands her nails were ornately painted with purple flowers on a white back lay she must have been very ambidextrous as each tiny fingernail looked exactly alike it was winter and there was about 18 inches of snow in the lanes she wore white rubber boots the bus wore its annual tire chains. I was dressed in my traditional white tennis shoes, weathered blue jeans a white Eddie Bauer T and my socks were soaking wet from trying to dodge the slush near the bus stops she was enveloped in a long camel-hair pea coat and, crazy as it sounds a feather hat much like Robin Hood used to wear I thought I would depart before her as she asked for a transfer like a novice-carom-billiard player I almost fell flat on my backside when the bus shot off before I could grab the overhead rail as I lent her my seat the bus was lousy with swing shift laborers headed to the fish packing plants I one of them pangs of passion swelled deep in my heart and seeped through every pore I wanted to hold her in my arms and love her, nothing more. then she left, brushed close by me and the driver sweetly shut the door pain exhaled softly silencing a lion's roar with mangled mane (and vanquished pride) I knew not what to infer through toothless jaws silently cried my heart alone for her the seat where she once sat remained unoccupied save for her plumed hat that I stared at 'til the end of my ride