T o n y   P r e s s
O n   t h e   L a t e   B u s


ahead of me

on the late bus to Bristol

the woman leaned her head

upon the rain-smeared window

and surrendered herself to sleep
 

I was reading,

no, fighting through

a novel an ex had given me,

when grace feathered my hands
 

wisps of a ponytail,

the ends of ten golden inches,

kissed my book-cradling fingers
 

I held pose

as if meditating
 

until her awakening

 

 

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