opposite, mapleton

at the bus stop,

the wind whipping past,

stirring up the rustle and crinkle of

sidewalk tumbleweeds,

leaves and paper bags and cast off plastic wrappers–


at the bus stop,

concrete and brick suddenly revealing themselves

to be

the unfathomable tragedy they are–


what we’ve created will outlive our destruction,

will outlive our memory of what used to be.



at the bus stop, sometimes

the world feels

almost too heavy to bear.


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