A green scarf
envelopes
her limp silver curls,
brushes
her wan, wrinkled face.
She clutches
her grocery bag
as if the plastic handles
are the very handles of her life.
She is tossed about
on the leather seat
like a child's unwanted plaything
in the hands
of the thunderous bus.
"4th and E," the driver mumbles.
At last.
Her stop.
As she hobbles toward the open door,
the plastic grocery bag
slips from her fingers.
Hands surround her,
gathering scattered cans,
supporting frail figure
down the steps.