Her trip

What she used to do

This was the

bus she took every morning,

this was the

time,

when the sun

danced over head,

flames on a cold winters day

the icy cold wind would plummet past her.

She used to poke

her head into the bus

and turn

left and right

to the bus driver she would whisper

her destination

carefully counting her money

making sure not to drop a single penny,

the bus driver would receive his payment.

She would walk head bent low

to the nearest lonesome seat she would go,

she used to sit

back rigid.

As the bus would fill

with others

the smell of gas would

overwhelm her

a symphony of voices

used to surround her from all angles

as she was the first on

she was the last off at the last stop

And so it happens

that I make this trip

each and everyday

just as she did

By Anjali