It's Still Life

It Always Rains When the Bus Is Late

If I take my glasses off
I still exist, even though
it’s dark as death outside.

Winter’s light deflates me
like a weak sentence missing
punctuation, and so I stand

below the flood of a street lamp,
my shadow stuck to the pavement.
I’m waiting for the bus.

The 101 — we pronounce it
as the-one-oooh-one.
It’s late. The bus is. As usual.

Maybe it’ll be on time tomorrow.
Same schedule but new day.

Poetic Asides NovPAD Challenge
Day 1:  “New Day” Image: Unsplash