The woman rustles through her purse
Searching for a tissue while,
Hands in his pockets, he looks down at his feet.
I hear her sob, “How could you…?”
The rest is lost in the phttt-tt-tt of the sprinklers
And whiz of a passing bike.
Ponytail flying, the blonde runs up
To the bench where three classmates sit.
Breathless, she shrieks, “You will die
When you hear what I heard…”
Then my bus pulls up, and annoyed,
I start my trip wondering
What the bastard had done
To the woman who cried
And if the girls died.

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