I sit with intravenous headphones
a dopamine drip
my dress pants are torn at the inner knee
my hair smells of yeast
my face itches
my eyes wander
we screech to a halt
and it hisses like a feral cat
the platform then filled with bodies
that funnel in
shuffling
bright as the undead
one seat from me
he's balding
and in the absense of hair, scabs
polka dotted,
uneavendly.
He barks to a younger man about his dog
but the younger man just stares straight forward
In the disabled seating, sits
a woman
who is not pregnant
or crippled
or elderly
her toenails are a browny-yellow, and curled like the petals of an uprooted daffodil
her breath is audible, from the tenth row back
even over the bald man
even over the chugging motor
At the front
a boy sits with his older brother -
who points at pictures in a tattered laminate book
and grunts
yes
and makes sounds
yes, thats right, bus
and groans
it's okay, you'll see mum soon
in discomfort,
snot seeping from his nose, spit
falling to the floor
Again, we screech to a halt
the alley cat hisses
only one at this platform
Her hair is neck length
her slip is long, silky and sky-blue
as are her eyes
fingers fiddle at the purse
pursed lipped, she smiles
... at the bus driver
Her boots sound the isle
they watch like its a runway
finding her way
Next to the boy
with the greasy hair
and the torn pants
and the sauce stained uniform
and the wandering eyes
and the inability to start a conversation
and she sits
and they sit
