Tuesday, February 7, 1984

I Open My Book

Waiting for a bus
To take me away
From the black and the gray
Of the city

I join the queue
Relaxing bit by bit
The lights have not been lit
Yet still I can see

And then I hear the sound;
A braking tire’s squeal
A startled voice’s peal
Before it is quiet again.

Rather than looking around
I pay no attention
The light pole is my stanchion
Upholding disbelief

And as my bus drives past
The truth becomes clear;
The body lying near
Loudly shouts out the facts

As the scene disappears
I slowly turn my head
And hoping she isn’t dead
I open my book.


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