The man on the bus, he sits in the second seat on the second row
He does not press the button if he is not there.
The girl at the bus stop, she tangles her long hair in the material of her coat’s hood
She stands in routine accordance with timely anticipation.
The man in his house, he watches the safety barriers descend from his kitchen window
He will scrape the ice from his car for the duration of the alarm.
The boys across the platform, they ride their bikes to the edge of the wood
They know each other well enough.
The peripheral crowd at the train station, they merge their flesh into concrete
They anticipate the permit machine is broken.
The man who gets on at the first stop, he is almost comfortable amidst the inane
He places his hands in his pockets in silent recognition.
The man with the trolley of drinks, he smiles upon familiar slighted receipt
He offers powder and water and sways very slightly.
The woman who crosses the bridge, she walks slowly in the rain
She exposes her ankles with every ascending step.
The man at the ticket barriers, he protrudes from a blue coat with portly countenance
He knows the passengers against the backdrop of the corridor.
The man at the bus stop, he reserves his benevolence
He takes the first bus to reach his destination.
The girl in the foyer, she pulls hairs from her coat in the reflection of the mirror
She does not know where she is going.