There was that guy
who flirted on the night bus—
The thing about
aisle seats
they invite trouble.
So—
each time
you brought a book,
tiny overhead light shining down,
just enough
— but he could make you out
in the mostly darkened bus/
figured you were alone.
Casually looking over
a couple of times
then asking
about your book—
Yes, yes, it’s very good
Asking if you live in this town or perhaps going further.
Where?
dum
dum
dum…
Do you know the way to San Jose?
Almost in the back of the bus, packed
you strained to see over rows of heads—
Pharmacy lit-up blinking sign
ahead flashes two stops more.
You spring from the seat
clutching book and bag
Wondering
what might have been
A slow advance— jerky stop/start
You trek toward the exit
bumping legs sticking into the aisle
Calling back over your shoulder
Goodnight!
Goodnight to him, ever so charmingly
Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres. Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.
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