Frayed Plume Poem by Alan Reed

she got on about three stops after I did
I was sure she was conversant in ballet
by the way she danced up the steps
and delicately deposited her passage
into the device next to the driver

her fingers were disproportionately
long and far too elegant for
such tiny hands

her nails were ornately painted
with purple flowers on a white back lay
she must have been very ambidextrous as
each tiny fingernail looked exactly alike

it was winter and there was about
18 inches of snow in the lanes
she wore white rubber boots
the bus wore its annual tire chains.

I was dressed in my traditional white tennis shoes,
weathered blue jeans a white Eddie Bauer T
and my socks were soaking wet
from trying to dodge the slush
near the bus stops

she was enveloped in a long
camel-hair pea coat
and, crazy as it sounds
a feather hat much like
Robin Hood used to wear

I thought I would depart before her
as she asked for a transfer

like a novice-carom-billiard player
I almost fell flat on my backside
when the bus shot off
before I could grab the overhead rail
as I lent her my seat

the bus was lousy
with swing shift laborers
headed to the fish packing plants
I one of them

pangs of passion
swelled deep in my heart

and seeped through every pore
I wanted to hold her in my arms
and love her, nothing more.

then she left, brushed close by me
and the driver sweetly shut the door
pain exhaled softly
silencing a lion's roar

with mangled mane (and vanquished pride)
I knew not what to infer
through toothless jaws silently cried
my heart alone for her

the seat where she once sat
remained unoccupied
save for her plumed hat
that I stared at
'til the end of my ride