The cubicle windows crackle
as sleet pounds on the
glass like a machine
gun while bullets have
turned to ice.
It seems the bus is always
late in this weather.
Maybe any weather but
I get really desperate
and angry when I’m shivering
and my left ankle swells with
excruciating pain, oops no Tylenol.
Beside me a small squat woman
wears a yellow flowered kerchief,
her face weather worn.
Unlike me, her thoughts are
centered keeping her warm.
How can she be so calm
while I’m covered with
agonizing thoughts
that plummets my conscious
with anger as hard as the winter wind?
It demands
the old woman
to feel it’s presence.
How dare you not react?
She sighs,
she smiles,
under her kerchief
as the hard ice turns to snow.