Bus Stop by Anna Philips

Bus Stop

Sitting on the hot curb,

Scrutinising the mirage down the street,

Waiting for the screech of worn-down brakes,

The exhaust smell you crave for its polarity.

They look at you with disdain,

Unrestrained disgust in their eyes.

But you never learned to apply

Your chameleon scales;

They fall off and disconcert passers-by.

Desperation makes even rejection feel sweet—

At least it's tangible.

Visibility verified

By the smirks and the jabs,

But companionship is leverage insurmountable.

It's okay if you can't keep up

When rubber transfers from metal to asphalt,

And chatter permeates the pavement.

When the doors click shut, run as fast as you can.

Maybe next time,

Or next week,

Or never.

I'm sure they'll hear you someday.