Feathers and Buses
The minutes dash past
In white lines on the road
Dirty and endless
I scratch words into paper scraps
Turning to shield
From the man who breathes heavier
And lives less
Than anyone I have ever seen
I do this every day
Two steps and a bus pass flash
Sink into the carpet crease
Three seats back
Watch the girl with the feather earrings and feathered hair
Nod and shake and rock
To a melody
That we can't find on weekdays
My pencil mirrors her eyes
Mimics her motion
And relentlessly searches for what swings between her headphones
Jives through her veins.
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