Women ride the bus with their children. Or as nurses,
toting their duds and scalpel. We file on at each stop
woman child nurse man woman child man nurse woman man child
Men ride the bus to meet the women.
They suspect we are translucent and supple. (We are not)
They suspect we are peeled and yawning. (We are not)
We see them peeking. You could hold the girth of the look
and guess the weight of it. It is full of expectancy and as round
as a baby's arm.
We are just like you, there are things we still carry.
We play with the grit in our teeth.
We rub our feet to stay warm.
We build shelves and cages and fix things around The House.
We cease loving out of circumstance.
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