Poetry

The Bus Stop

The bus stop filled for all to see
Through dirty glass, light filtering
As sun sets over cold city
And man looks over busy street.
People rush past to board the bus,
Yet still he stands in silent hush
With phone forgotten in numb hand.
The voice falls silent like the land.

One slow blink as bus does leave
And turn his head with naught to see.
This busy street teeming with life,
Yet all has fled his little life.
Blink again at child’s play
Across the street at end of day,
Yet sight moves not his shattered heart,
Nor sound reach soul that’s lost its part.

A woman walks in stately grace
Past man who wears a mask in place
At that bus stop so they will see
Nothing of his silent plea.
She walks up Fifth and turns at State
Carrying day’s conquests to take
Them home to family, home to child,
Home to peace, leave city wild.

He slowly blinks and slowly falls
Down to his knees as cloud’s soft pall
Smothers setting sun so soon.
And yet no dirge, no soothing croon;
His jacket lead, his tie a noose
His clothing feeling tight, yet loose
As seem to shrink himself, and world
Fades as final flag is furled.

Someday he’ll rise and travel home,
Relate the tale that stranger told.
The sun will rise, the world will spin
Life will go on, but without him.