‘No Hurry’


fluorescent lights flicker

loop tavern liquor

the s burnt out

and an old man smokes cigarettes

at a bus stop

taking drags

between the silence

of police sirens

in the distance.

he’s been waiting for the bus

and smoking cigarettes so long

his hair is the color of burnt nicotine

and his face is a dark stained wood.

i step into the street

over the newspapers and wrappers

and leaves in the gutter

to see if the bus is coming soon

and i pull a hair from my beard.

the old man conducts a silent waltz

with his cigarette

and smokes it down to the butt

before tossing it in the street

giggling. “you see it coming?”

he asks me and i shake my head.

“well don’t be in no hurry,”

he says,

“don’t be in no hurry.”