strophe

Checked my phone nine times on the bus.

Still no reply. Unsurprised.

You don't ask someone out by text message,

which is why I did.

How could a palm of screen link us heart to heart?

How could I declare my true affections in one hundred and sixty characters?

Perhaps if I knew Mandarin.

I will never know enough.

I know the process well enough to sabotage, watchmaker

precision.

No one is to blame. No one is at fault.

All my romantic failures are accidents. First a rear, and then the ending.

I don't know how to drive.

There are living people on the bus and I try to fall in love.

Nothing. Once a day is my limit.

If I stay on the bus it might keep going. I don't have to get off.

We can race towards the dawn, bus driver. You might be tomorrow's

lucky winner.

Your uniform, your cropped hair, your professional demeanour.

If it is you

I promise I won't let on.

Just don't let me off until the dawn.

The bus driver does not hesitate. Sticks to schedule.

Hauling reality a little closer to plan.

No love in this bus. I touch the corner of my eye.

Check my phone again.