Bus Stop

by Linda Vilhjálmsdóttir

Click — clack — click — clack — click.
The sharp ladysound softens in the final notes
of the echo when the bus makes a sudden stop
beside a greyish lamppost on a cement street. And
the silence creeps quietly up the high heels
and black pantyhose under the tight
black dress and wraps itself around the
supple neck that tilts the head lazily
back so that the cheek touches the chilly
post. Oh, she sights, and lets her glance
travel up the pin-straight pole. Out of
the corner of her eye, she catches sight of
the last faint glimmer of night about to
blend into daylight. And she lowers herself
down the pole onto the concrete street
and shuts her eyes tiredly.