Emily
THE BUS
The bus is fairly crowded.
A dark-haired girl
of about my age
sits alone in the seat
opposite mine,
her face turned
toward the window.
A woman of my mother’s age
climbs aboard.
She could be
anyone’s mother—
a typical American woman.
She walks down the aisle.
The girl turns to face her.
The woman stops.
Her face contorts.
She purses her lips.
"Ptttt!"
A glob of spit flies across the aisle.
"Go back to Japan!" she hisses
as the girl wipes her face.
It’s funny how everyone
on the bus suddenly
finds something of interest
to look at through the window
or down at their feet—
including me.
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved. Photo courtesy Library of Congress.
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