Bus Stop

Three walls of plexiglas enclosed a trashcan and a wooden bench. As streetlights sharpened shadows grim, the shelter seemed to welcome me. I heard rough snoring as he dozed and smelled his alcoholic stench. I didn’t want to waken him while waiting for the Number Three. Though sheltered from the autumn breeze I felt a quivering of fright. Would I be safer in the cold? I tried to think what I should do. He sat up with a cough and wheeze as I retreated to the light, my shivering now uncontrolled. What if I left, would he pursue? I dithered a few moments more—the bus stopped as its air brakes hissed. It felt so bright and warm inside, although my heart still beat quite fast. I’d never been so scared before; a fear I finally dismissed as I continued on my ride. Relaxing, I felt safe at last.

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

Darren White

Date: 6/18/2017 3:08:00 AM

Ouch. What to say about this. That is probably the reaction many have without wanting to acknowledge. One question: do you normally refer to buses as Number One, Two, Three? If not, it seems a bit put there for the sake of meter and rhyme. If you do however, forget my remark :)

Darren White
Date: 6/18/2017 3:39:00 PM

Ok, that's fun, differences in countries. We say 1, 2, 3, and then the destination

J-Mag Guthrie
Date: 6/18/2017 2:25:00 PM

I tried to reply before but it didn't "take"--yes, we call buses by their route numbers either Route [number] or Number [number] or Bus [number] or even [number] if it's clear from context. We discussed capitalization in workshop based on that.