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Goodnight
He sits at the bus stop
everyday
the world hurrys past
smile wrinkles deepen
never been on a bus
not one
of the smartphone-bus pass-agenda kind of people
She is there
everyday
in school uniform:
holes in the elbows
shirt hem above skirt waist
she sits next to him
draws and writes in books as heavy as her
like a granddaughter would
her world is too crowded with strangers
to see him
his is sprinkled with bus stop regulars:
his children who don't know it yet
he notices her graying skin, thinning thighs,
garbage bags framing twinkleless eyes,
no one else does
he worries
she wants someone to hear her
and care
he puts down the newspaper to watch her
she does not draw anymore
ever
her glassy bloodshot eyes gaze
at her interpretation of a future:
they find nothing to rest on
she paints now
in blood across her skin
he notices
it hurts him
she thinks it only hurts her
she deserves it
she thinks
he knows she thinks wrong
skeletal body
gray skin surrounds pink scabs
he decides to save her.
he watches every person
on and off his bus
some look blue, tomorrow they are violet
she went from blue to gray
to see-through
because she thought she started out
invisible
tomorrow, she was not at the bus stop
he worried
or the next day
he cried
or the next day
neither was he
she never came back to his bus stop
or any
neither did he
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