On The Bus

Somewhere in Billerica, near it's DPW headquarters, a middle-aged Mexican man got on. In his hands was some kind of plant. It had a long, green bud and looked as if it could be hung as an herb would be, drying for taste or decoration. It had been broken from its roots. He sits on the other side of the bus from me, on the lower of the benches. The ride progresses. In Lowell, a black women gets on and points to the transfers near the driver. She sits on my side of the bus, on the higher bench. Later, the Mexican man asleep (or at least dozing), she reaches across and caresses the plant. He does not wake up.