Ride Home at -30

The girl with the
incredibly smooth
white skin and the
bright blond hair
that seemed to be
iluminated from within
gnawed on a bagel filled
thick with white cream cheese.
Why would an angel be hungry?

The man behind her
soaked deep in the
culture of cities
jazz-talked to a tiny
nub on a chain around his neck
repeating, "I'm on my own ma man,"
several times, almost chanting.

These people sheltered with me
from the dark and the stupid
un-mentionable weather in the dull
grey light of the Number 47, which
means I would have to walk from the stop
as if I hadn't walked enough.
They come from a different
world. By the time they de-barked
from space-ship mother the earth
that protected me had vanished.

Tough are these young strivers,
passing through impossible
trials of consistency and pain.