fluorescent lights flicker
loop tavern liquor
the s burnt out
and an old man smokes cigarettes
at a bus stop
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,”
“don’t be in no hurry.”