Monday, June 15, 2015

After Work One Day

You find yourself
sitting there
at the bus stop curb
looking up and seeing sweat fall
from a man’s head trickling,
unphazed from the steam that whispers
from the grate where another woman’s foot
waits for a road to elsewhere

There’s water spots
on the shelter glass where
rain dried and loitered by
a panel
where somebody with dollar-sign intentions
tagged their name with a black marker

You see a man near
               the intersection,
a black man with a corona for a beard -
he sits cross-legged and slouched with
a sign and an outstretched hat
with the bill half-torn

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