this bus on the corner, rarely, if ever, looks to stop;
you have to wave it down or step forward before it rides past.
she was wearing sunglasses that day,
it was sunny and hot and bright, so
she was wearing them to shield her eyes
from the bright and hot sun.
when the bus with its compressed air braking system
stopped with a puff and huff and gradually lowered itself to the curb,
and the doors opened with a jerk and inward swing,
she balked and gave no intention of walking on.
as this bus, as previously asserted, had a penchant and reputation
among the boarders at this particular corner
not to stop on most occasions, the other potential riders,
who were edging nervously behind the sunglassed girl,
wasted no time for opportunity to board,
moving around her and jumping on, scanning cards
and taking a desired seat.
I was one of those riders, though I determined to stand.
After the bustle, you could hear the driver's audible and
inwardly directed, "sorry about that, ma'am,"
and her equally audible and inwardly directed, "that's okay,"
return, as she stepped on.