wax

ringing in the ears. another
anxious moment disperses itself
in waste like vulturous grains
of sand gone to a hidden register
reporting more hidden light unseen.
the boy’s fingertips become loose
watercolors awash with DNA coded
nightmares. he pulls his slumping
lunchbox from an oak desk without initials
thinking about a freckled face like
an old potato and small fists like
wooden bees. the brown leaves circling the
bus stop are bleached copper by the
sun itching his unlaced sneakers
like dry preying mantises. the
bus arrives grinding steamed metal
fear and porous faces grinning from
the engine’s dirty chrome. the door
closes and all laughter is their own
another opens with splintered fury
as a dated ornament falls to the ground
a woman looks from moist eyelashes
and sees the bus thinking she remembers
how easy it was to be young.