stuck in a BX55 bus suddenly shorn of ac when it hit third avenue, a hoyden in a boy's tank top a seat away pried open the emergency window. a gentle wind whispered in like a swift, unbidden dream. i leaned back on my cradle seat, its once indigo, thin upholstery now a pale sky blue of a late summer afternoon.
oh, someday, i would buy me a bookstore, close it for an afternoon, and just read until the hired helps clear their throats gratingly, their eyes darting to the time card machine blazing like an untended brazier. someday, i would make my mama proud and mail her a nice little certified check. someday, as a friend has been repeatedly saying these days, i would meet my guardian angel and take him to a fancy dinner, gold rimmed china, stemware that glisters like the milky stars familiar to my guest.
but in the meantime, i wait for your call on this business monday. the one you'd make during your strictly one-hour lunch break, phone in your left paw, your right flipping open your billfold, while standing in line, impatient to take that limp lettuce out of that cold sub.
