Big people, like on TV
documentaries. Don’t show
their faces, show their asses.
I see their broken smiles and
their shirt buttons. Holding hands,
forging a wide path.
Then come the more agile
street bums with enormous,
tricked-out backpacks, one with a
tiny dog on a leash, and the other
with a middle-sized mutt, also
on a leash.
They look back and begin making
an assessment through dissertation,
and then a short man with funny, perfect
black hat, immaculate
white shirt, holding orange balloon,
and then lady in grocery-
store-like electric wheel chair. She knifes
through the humidity at twelve
M P H, crushing through
the orange hand
signal. The big bus stops awkwardly.
The bus does not hit her.
The bus is long and it bounces
with braking and it twists.