She gasps, looking out at the people waiting for buses She talks to herself quickly but loudly, turning away As if she were reciting her lines for a play A blonde woman So neatly yet modestly put together
How could one bus stop be so full of crazies? The old woman and her toddler granddaughter With bright yellow hair Get up from their bench and move away in fear While I draw closer
She mumbles so fiercely and so quietly That I cannot make out a word She is so tightly wound Like a broken watch At a mad tea party
Suddenly she disappeared And my bus came
What did life do to her?
As I ride down King I see her again Beaming as she walks by the skating rink In front of town hall Reciting her own world for herself
Why does God hate her?
About a mentally unstable woman at the bus station.