Bus Stop by Megan Windom

   The Singing by C. K. Williams

I was walking home down a hill near our house
on a balmy afternoon
under the blossoms
Of the pear trees that go flamboyantly mad here
every spring with
their burgeoning forth

When a young man turned in from a corner singing
no it was more of
a cadenced shouting
Most of which I couldn't catch I thought because
the young man was
black speaking black

It didn't matter I could tell he was making his
song up which pleased
me he was nice-looking
Husky dressed in some style of big pants obviously
full of himself
hence his lyrical flowing over

We went along in the same direction then he noticed
me there almost
beside him and "Big"
He shouted-sang "Big" and I thought how droll
to have my height
incorporated in his song

So I smiled but the face of the young man showed nothing
he looked
in fact pointedly away
And his song changed "I'm not a nice person"
he chanted "I'm not
I'm not a nice person"

No menace was meant I gathered no particular threat
but he did want
to be certain I knew
That if my smile implied I conceived of anything like concord
between us I should forget it

That's all nothing else happened his song became
indecipherable to
me again he arrived
Where he was going a house where a girl in braids
waited for him on
the porch that was all

No one saw no one heard all the unasked and
unanswered questions
were left where they were
It occurred to me to sing back "I'm not a nice
person either" but I
couldn't come up with a tune

Besides I wouldn't have meant it nor he have believed
it both of us
knew just where we were
In the duet we composed the equation we made
the conventions to
which we were condemned

Sometimes it feels even when no one is there that
someone something
is watching and listening
Someone to rectify redo remake this time again though
no one saw nor
heard no one was there 

                                                                                

 Bus Stop by Megan Windom

I was waiting at my nearest bus stop

on a cold and misty winter morning

with sleepy breathes of early commuters

hovering silently in front of them

The only sounds were the rushing of cars

and the slow shuffles of approaching feet

The oversized puddles that never left

constantly filled by heavy winter rains

had been covered by a thin skin of ice

and then broken by a rambunctious foot

Other than the breathes and shuffled movement

the gathering of individuals

waiting for a ride, revealed no intent

to recognize our shared experience

Liveliness invaded our somberness

a puppy was bounding against its leash

I stepped aside to make room as it passed

It moved between me and a nearby man

He wasn’t any older than myself

and I had seen him many times before

I thought he seemed nice, a real gentleman

always letting me on the bus first

giving me a pleasant smile as I said

“Thank you” while stepping into our transport

The puppy launched between us nipping at

the frosted morning air without reserve

Its pleasure resonated through the fog

so that for a brief moment my eyes met

the young man’s and he looked for an instant

as though he wished to say something to me

to capture some of the pup's abandon

and keep it for ourselves and our own use

But just as quickly he seemed to recall

that he did not know me, nor I know him

Unspoken pleasantries faded away

burned up by the sun that was trying hard

to lift the veil of fog that surrounded us

The bus pulled up with the old brakes screaming

and I knew coffee and work were waiting

at the other end of the route for me

and just like every other day, a group

of strangers boarded the bus together