tonight I sit alone
in the back of the bus.
feet flat against the floor
in the only seat
with the overhead
florescent light
burnt out

skin glued to glass
study my face
like a found object
backlit by the silouhette
of another woman’s
man in the moon

I want to lift my eyes
to the collision of constellations
smile shyly at the rain
and ask a stranger
if he thinks I am beautiful.