two seats in front
reads her large pink Christ Triumphant book
with thin nose set
in powderwhite, describable face
making for a near perfection.
Across from her
structure, her gleam,
Mother makes her boy's very dark hair unruly;
forget time and weather,
reasons and others, signals.
They all leave the bus two stops
before I do. Almost alone now.
Black hair. White face. Pink book.
My dry red hands.