The bus shelter echoes with the patter of rain crash landing on the transparent roof,

A grey mudslide sky glinting of desolation

The smell of beer and excrement regurgitating from the bottle return,

Cars whooshing by on Lombard,

 

He’s on the corner,

Reeking of cigarette smoke and five dollar whiskey,

The wind cuts through his Swiss cheese jeans and his caked shirt,

Sores clawing up his arms as his shaking hand reached up and out to you,

His eyes startling and icy blue,

And your stomach becomes a Kitchen Aid mixer,

Knotting and kneading everything within you,  

as your eyes travel over his arms,

potholes and needle marks covering them as a grotesque wallpaper,

And you turn your eyes to the other side of the street as you briskly walk past him

 

I break my gaze and shift my eyes,

To look for the bus down the street,

Only to turn my head only to find the story dematerialized,

And another to see another inaugurate.

 

Milk and honey skin,

Her waist is super thin,

Shes white so she should be either trailer trash or stinking rich

Not that she’s in the middle of the mix,

Rays of sunshine up in a ponytail,

Her feet drag,

And her chin sags

Furrowed blue maids uniform

Committed to a life of drudgery

Over the luxury

Of home, cause she can’t stand it there

Hearing her stepdads rage from behind a locked door,

Stooped on the floor,

Crying and shaking cause when her mom can’t take any more,

She knows she’s next,

Prepared for the door to bow and shake behind his weight

 

I break my gaze and shift my eyes,

To look for the bus down the street,

Only to turn my head only to find the story dematerialized,

And another to see another inaugurate

 

Only six or seven,

Yet here she is waiting for the eleven,

Her hair in a bunched up ‘fro,

Holding a younger boys hand tight,

Her knuckles turn white,

I bite my lip as the words “where is your mother?”

Start to turn,

But the thought stops and sputters,

Because my own mother watched her brother,

Due to lack of parental guidance,

Like these two,

They had formed and alliance

Moms working 7am to 10 pm,

And step dad wants no claim to them,

As he gnaws on a vicodin,

So all they have is each other,

A sister and brother,

The world is cold,

But his sisters hand and heart is warm

 

But the bus stops with a gasp,

Causing me to tear my eyes away from a story that no one else might realize,

Because all they see is two little kids, a pretty girl, and a homeless man,

To them it’s another gray day,

They don’t see the bigger depiction,

Of this library,

We constantly check in and out at this position,

Novels that are not finished being written,

So many it’s impossible to read them all,

So take the cover and paint on our assumptions,

Without thinking about the impact it has on the books function

I peek between the lines and pages,

Trying to separate them,

Hoping to find the inner cogs,

Just by lifting up the hem.

And it’s all wrong.

 

Because for them,

It’s been so long,

Since someone read from end to end.