Almost There
by Joshua Siegal

Muffled
In a deep coat of down
He pretends patience
Whips his gaze around
The only thing swift
Save the leaves
Scrambling over his frozen feet
His elbows pulse in stillness
Fixed familiar angles
Hands are parked in pockets deep and warm
But they are cold in the bones
The great, wide-cloaked personage of impending fall
Taunts him with offensive sunlight
Washing out the details
When his eyes come to rest
But he is resolute in waiting
In his skull somewhere
A voice wonders
Has the bus
Forgotten
About him.