The Waiting

We cannot decide when the bus comes - only how we wait. 

🌫️🚌🌙👤❄️💡🌧️

Ponderous, at the bus stop all ignore

Mind going over faint lights;

Little cracks in the cement surface.

My breath fogs the air ,

Covering timetable edges

Tapping thrice

Frigid metal

Of rails.

🌫️🚌🌙👤❄️💡🌧️

A light afar flickers

Thrice, in tandem

With approaching feet

Even marches pause,

Shimmer

In a puddle.

🌫️🚌🌙👤❄️💡🌧️

Too late.

The bus -a figment.

The street waits, still. 

The clicks

Of the flickering light

Echo.

Cannot be paused.

🌫️🚌🌙👤❄️💡🌧️

I get up

Still tapping thrice

But faintly.

My breath fogs -

And lingers.

But i stay 

Present.

Calm.

In its cloud.

🌫️🚌🌙👤❄️💡🌧️

Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

For Mikeydred's January prompt

What do you do when things are out of your control? Do answer in the comments!