at a bus stop she waits for something, like the twisted stem
of a french woman’s beret waits to smoke in the sun.
it is not really a bus stop but a cemetery with too much calm
and unhatched weather.
maybe she is waiting for someone to arch her back with a touch;
maybe with a whispered word.
or, if a river spun by, she could let it tighten around her like the fibers
of a rope gurgling through her fingers.
i say “au revoir” in english after i quote invisible moons from the back of
she scratches her cheek and wonders why the nightmares of sundown
cannot bring her courage.
Livio Farallo is co-founder/co-editor of Slipstream and Professor of Biology at Niagara County Community College in Sanborn, New York. His work has appeared or, is forthcoming in, The Blue Collar Review, Biscuit Hill, Scud, Beatnik Cowboy, Rattle, Spillway, Spelunker Flophouse, and others. His collection, Dead Calls and Walk-Ins, chronicles his job as a cab driver, many, many years ago.