Terrible Questions

Terrible Questions

Early Sunday morning,
she rides the subway, alone.
A barely legal face peeks,
through dark straight bangs.
Blue eyes dart, anxious.

Beige blazer buttoned shut,
pleated skirt wrapped close,
bare legs tucked tight to the bench.
High heels poised,
ready to spring.

A dude parks beside her,
I-Pod thumping,
she stiffens, hugs her proper bag tight.
He feels her withdraw,
half glances, shrugs, scoots away.

Her stop announced,
she starts and leaps to her feet,
rigid pose broken.
She warily scans the platform,
then scurries away like a worried mouse.

Joan Huffman©06/15/2005

2006 Mad Poet's Review