for the man on the bus, a poem.

financial institutions think im crazy crazy institutions think im fine my family must think im really lazy but dont tell me that you arent mine the man on the bus that day smelled so good he smelled of wood and soft water no shaving cream scent at all but his face was shaven earlier and the stubble was starting to show those are the details i did not miss but i sorely miss saying hello when i dont know what to do i become talkative but that day my crazy did shine through for i stared at him so intently instead he took note and fled on foot i wasnt hurt i wasnt sad i was still in shock because i had never seen such a wonderful looking man despite not speaking to him no talk at all if i ever come across him again i will stand my ground might be water or i may not have the strength but i believe one look from him ill be steadfast no fear and it will feel all too real so instead of hope i plot to be more sincere more outside and more on the bus we rode that october last last year. its been so long i wonder.