little blue flowers

there are extraordinary people

There was this little crying genius
On the bus this morning
She was plucking at her baby sister's ears
As she cried over the loud rumblings,
Causing the younger to sob as well
The mother sat beside the two of them-
Enthralled with some magazine-
Dull eyes glued to the pages as her children
Wailed like mournful spirits together
It was quite spectacular in a way
That doesn't seem like it.

There was another handsome genius
On the bus this morning
He'd fallen asleep with his large hands
Folded neatly in his lap, almost in prayer
But not quite
Must've been no older than 25
Long eyelashes like a woman's
Full lips parted just so in slumber
A pair of girls were giggling over his state
But he looked restless in a way
That doesn't seem like it.

And behind them there was a genius
On the bus this morning
With narrow eyes and a sharp chin
Jutted upward toward the sky in thought
She wore a black-and-plaid skirt
Some spiky flats and silver anklets
Her breasts nearly pouring out her shirt
But her eyes narrowed further
A book of poetry sprawling across her legs
Words oozing into the aisle
It was a very pretty picture to look at
In a way that you wouldn't think of
And I don't mean the soft flesh of her
I mean everything else.

If only I'd taken the bus this morning.