she sat there like a photograph
of someone much further away
on one of those inbetween days
we shared a brief bus stop
she gave me her smile
and I looked underneath
at the lipstick on her teeth she asked me for a light
and if I thought her hair looked okay
pleasently furious half of the time
into stuff strangers just don't say
we grew out of the small talk
we discovered we are both we sat underneath the shelter
when we're not just toeing the line
as the rain came down outside
against the underside of our thighs
I said I think we need new responses
the bench was cold
my life may not be something special
and she said, yeah,
each question's a revolving door when we grow old
but it's never been lived before
we decided our urgency will wane
but I said, I don't know if I can wait
and there will be a new generation of anger
and she said, well, you know,
new stories to be told
we've been waiting for this bus
for that peace to be mine
for an awfully long time.
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