and out of the very
corner of her aging eye
a younger ****
from far away
makes an overture of unknown nature
the novelty alone stops the bus
and all the old women on board
clutch their large handbags
close to their sides and say aloud:
what does this mean?

maybe nothing at all
maybe just what it looks like
maybe it is the Universe come calling
placing a new plate of wets in a new location
in a new form on a new platter

soon, her nose will take over
and she will know to eat or not
and what to think about it all

there isn't really anything to fear
the bus is still moving in the right direction
how could it not, as beautiful as it is
stop now and then
and garner new riders
the ones that see the color
and hear the music
and how is there not
a rightful place for one and all?

that is a given.
there is no problem
it is love itself
dancing through the mirror or self to self
and in the end
nothing at all but
a blessing