She gasps, looking out at the people waiting for buses
She talks to herself quickly but loudly, turning away
As if she were reciting her lines for a play
A blonde woman
So neatly yet modestly put together
How could one bus stop be so full of crazies?
The old woman and her toddler granddaughter
With bright yellow hair
Get up from their bench and move away in fear
While I draw closer
She mumbles so fiercely and so quietly
That I cannot make out a word
She is so tightly wound
Like a broken watch
At a mad tea party
Suddenly she disappeared
And my bus came
What did life do to her?
As I ride down King
I see her again
Beaming as she walks by the skating rink
In front of town hall
Reciting her own world for herself
Why does God hate her?