Bus Stop

The most obnoxious
people in the world
take too much space
on the bench when you have
chosen to be alone,
move up to you and
spread their legs
so you have to
scoot over to avoid them,
while you are saying no,
not me, not today.

They come
as close as prayer
to touching you
and hover over you,
make you confess,
make you face
your shameful sense of exclusion,
create doubt.

Then they let their
sorrow, filtered through the
moist sausage of drink
rub itself into your
nostrils and your ears,
doing things
you won't imagine.
They spread themselves
over the street like searchlights.