I can’t help but glance again at
Mrs. Metro.
I bet she’s also into reading.
It’s in the way she holds that phone—
Four fingers aligned,
Slightly tilted downwards,
Leaving little space between them,
The usual grip of a story.

She must be passionate,
Mrs. Metro,
About the little things.
I can tell by her voice,
Its melody shifting
Between highs and lows,
The sound of a soul that cares,
Even for those who don’t.

Mrs. Metro
Meets my glance
When I pass her,
Drawing close.