The Bus Stop

content warning: anti-homeless infrastructure is the literal worst and it’s mentioned, but not focused on.

There’s an old bus stop.
A countless number of feet have tread here.
Person after person, waiting
for the right bus to come.
The shelter over the bench is tilted,
and the metal bench is rusted.

(The handle, forcing it to become
two different seats, is new.)

People know here, have been here,
will return here. Day after day,
they take the bus to work and school
and the grocery store.
It’s a familiar staple on the side of the road,
as familiar as fences
and houses painted beige and light blue.

(Someone used to sleep here, sometimes,
when all the rooms were full.)

Today, it’s raining. People cluster.
The bus stop is busy. Umbrellas overlap,
create a collage of colors from above.
Someone sneezes, swears “I’m not sick”.
People laugh. Connection.
Here and gone in an instant.
These are familiar strangers that bring comfort,
and knowing you will see them,
day after day, at the same stop as always.

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