Bus Stop

A woman sits beside me
on the park bench, she
has snow white hair and
wrinkled pixie-face
and deep sea blue eyes
she is waiting for the
bus, she says
to take her elsewhere.
Elsewhere is where I want to go
as well
though
the park looks good today
in shadow and sunshine–
unlike the people, most of them out of shape
big bellies, sad drooping faces–
one asks me
“How are you doing?”
“Great.”
Engines of traffic gurgle
until the light changes,
then
cars and trucks start
to roar.