Idling

In traffic,
half-empty bottles shimmy on the floor
taking up the space where his feet might have been.
The vent's sticky breeze drifts through her hair--
coaxing the stray from her cheek just as he had done.

The car creeps closer to her mundane 8 to 5.
She grips the wheel
her hands turn--empty.

Mindlessly
lowering itself into the opened teeth of the zipper,
finding the smooth pack.
A short-lived flame cajoles a cigarette to life.
Nicotine jump starts and detours her mind
while mixing with the ribbons of smoke,
his memory wisps out the window.

Every Day

I see her
rush to the bus
curls blowing behind her
face open and alive.

Sweet smile to the driver
as her eyes pass the others
she finds a window seat
and opens her packsack.

The fingers peek from her gloves
to gently turn each page
her head bows to the words
allowing her hair to fall across her cheeks,
hiding.

The mechanical bus driver's voice signals
"Sixth Street".

She pulls the heavy strap to the top of her shoulder
passes the driver
"thank you"
and steps into the dawning city.