My down coat drank a gallon of snow before the #62 pulled in a half hour late.
We sloshed to the back of the bus and sat in seats
that faced other seats.
Mass Ave was a clogged white artery,
so there was time to stare at the gentleman
who sat down across from me, with choppy hair
and a mystery;
Apparently cradling two iPhones plugged into each other,
like a super iPhone,
he wore flat leather shoes you might see on the hot streets of Majorca.
One can only assume he tracks space debris
at the end of the line with a satellite of love.
by Susy Jones
susy@karouselmag.com
