The Tear.


The tear.

A tear on her cheek.
Black-rimmed glasses,
hidden by short curly hair.
Pale cheeks, revealed to all,
And there, the single tear.

Dark head bent,
starring at her mute phone,
thumbs twitching, as if,
waiting, hoping, praying
for a reply.

The bus sways
but she does not.
Face and body stoic.
Emotionless.
Unwilling to move.
To breathe.


But that tear betrays her,
as it rolls,
down, further more,
and drops onto the dark screen,
framed by now
motionless thumbs. 

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