Like a fork dragged across a china plate
her voice cuts through
creating a wavelike wince along the aisle
my neck turtles in and I ignore her loudly
turning to stare out the window as if a new territory was unfolding
instead of the same street
as the day before and before
I wear my isolation like a large black jewel
a thing of sparkle without light
and wonder if I am the only one so uncomfortable…
and wonder why I am?
and wonder why she isn’t?
I guess bus rides make me ponder odd things
with blank space to fill strange thoughts rise up
like discarded rattles thrown on a floor for attention.`
and I wonder if I am the only one who has these questions?
and wonder why I do?
and wonder why you don’t?