Bystander Effect

Bystander Effect

It’s four years later and I’m on a bus

while somewhere you drive your own car

and I stare out the window

at two women fighting on the street.

One has crutches. Both are pulling

each other’s hair. They smack

down onto the concrete. I see a bag,

its contents spewed out all around

the bus stop. The driver does not

acknowledge the row. He dispatches

the lone passenger getting off,

a business suit who walks right past

the women. I turn my head and see

another passenger looking on,

mouth ajar, half-rising to their feet.

I let my face assume a frown

to demonstrate my concern.

One of the women looks at me then.

But the driver closes the door

and drives off.

And I know it’s selfish and stupid of me

but the bus plows on and I’m not thinking

of those women, but of you.

Standing there, turning away,

walking on by, eyes down.

I turn to look out the window

but it’s dark outside and I’m faced

with my own reflection. It’s night

but the stars are hidden. The sky

is clear tonight, not reflecting anything.