Passing By

A Father and a Daughter walked onto The bus. One stop away from the highway. The whiteness outside creeping up around, Silently, Like a cat. He sat in front, She sat behind. She had long hair down her back, He had white feathers stuck in his. She sat there looking around, shaking her legs, He coughs, Again and again. He asked, "Do you want to go to the library?" As the bus Rolled onto the highway. Wheels creaking, Sluggishly. Up The formidable slope. She shrugged. Silence. The bus started descending from the highway. She Examined his white hair. Little fingers curling around the nape of his neck. He sat there, Head full of images of leaking pipes, electricity bills and the lady with the pink dress. She Giggled at this new game Tugging at his hair. He suddenly made as if to Reach out and grab her hand. But she withdrew swiftly, Laughing with delight. She returned to her game on his hair. His hand reaches back again, And she collapsed back. She grew bolder Pulling at his hair, Willing him to look, To listen, To play with her. Until his bigger hand Shot out Like a dart And found hers, Clasped tight Game over. Still the game does not go on forever She would elude him She would fight him His big hand reaching out to grab air They pass each other by Until they both have white feathers in their hair The bus stops A Father and a Daughter alighted They did not go hand in hand