Left Behind

Stopping to speak with a friend
For just a minute,
I became late
For bus number 8.

Tricking myself
Into thinking I could,
I dashed and ran,
Darted and tore
Between buildings,
Thundering down sidewalks,
Through town.

Into the bus stop I burst,
And ran to the street,
Only to smell the diesel exhaust
Of the receding bus number 8.

Copyright © Benyah Shaparenko, 2002