Tuesday, June 13, 2006

A little further away from my house she stood,
She stood,
I supposed waiting for her bus.
I watched as she stood,
I watched as the steam
From my tea mug
Fogged my glasses.

10y, 19j, 213
Passed by.
She still stood.
I wondered what had kept her waiting.
I wondered what man had kept her waiting.
The walls of my tea mug grew cold,
But I still stood.
She stood still,
Waiting always for the next bus.
And the next
And the next.
And I stood watching her,
As she missed her bus
All that evening.

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