Today I step off the bus
And see:
A pretty girl with
Long hair blowing, flowing
Behind her briskly-walking
Thin, jaunty body.
Girl I don’t know hurts me,
Only in her beauty.
Her carefree attitude a color in the atmosphere,
A painting this September morning:
A girl with dark blue jeans, light orange jacket,
And clear, white skin in a town’s crowd—
Still, my eye is drawn to her.
And, for a moment,
I thought I was her, maybe once, some time ago.
I know, though,
I never was a pretty girl with long, straight hair,
Strikingly clothed and a contented look,
With a face another stared at
For its grace and pleasantness,
Walking briskly in the late summer.
And I can’t decide if that hurts,
Or if I like it.
