A Sunday Bus

I saw a woman waiting for the bus, on a Sunday.
The buses don’t run on Sunday where I live.
So as I walked past her I was considering
whether or not I should say,
“Are you waiting for the bus?”
But it seemed foolish.
She was sitting on the bench braiding her hair,
not caring whether or not the bus would come.

I’d ruin her day.

Maybe that’s why I chose not to intervene.
And I kept on walking.
It’s none of my business if
this woman is waiting on a Sunday bus.
And how do I know she wasn’t just
taking a break on a walk of her own?
She decided to stop and rest,
and she’s not waiting on a bus at all.

I saw a taxi drive by a little farther up the street
and I wondered if she’d called a taxi, saying,
“I’m at the bus stop on Hamilton Rd.”
I then wondered if she was going very far away.
Could she just walk after the Sunday bus failed to show?

Is there a Sunday bus and I don’t know?

Either way, I kept thinking about
what I should say to someone waiting
for a bus that may never come.
The reason it bothered me is that
I know how it feels to wait.
On buses, on people who are late,
and on the future we create.

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