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Commute
February 19, 2016
The bagged eyes and hooked nose slouching over craning neck.
I’ve always hated the plaid he wears. It’s muddy and made of a chafing wool, causing Pink marks where it kisses his skin.
Thin again—bones out, ligaments swim from underneath.
Hands clench, unclench, fine ridged bones gliding under farmer’s tan,
Dancing beneath cuffed shirt.
Cloth gathers around the waist and the angles of the knees.
Eyes back, and then forth (just once)
And the blur of color and heat in front, and a shattering,
Someone’s shattering.
The slamming of brakes.
© Edgard B., Coral Springs, FL
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