unexpected deer

he stood up and sauntered toward the back as the bus turned and bellied
up to his stop, his eye caught by a couple of young men in baseball caps,

of course, slouched in the seats by the rear exit door. one of them clutching

a huge refillable plastic mug, his tasered gaze too docile to focus, slurping

an eyeful of floor, his body tilted by the weight of his pillowy friend, leaning

against him, a playdough snowman with an enormous oval head, gently placed 

on his shoulder like a brown egg, while a cigarette wilted between his fat

affluent fingers. he stood there waiting, longing to look, magnetized by their

tired tenderness, as if he'd just spotted deer someplace you'd never expect

to see them, suddenly still and quiet, wanting to stay, wanting to be near them,

knowing they may bolt with any blink, as if their presence was too delicate

to remain, as if you could only look longer if your gaze was as soft as them,

not wanting to interrupt such an exquisite display, he makes knowing eye-

contact with a coworker, a savage gentleman in a sports coat and a red dress

shirt, waiting as well to disembark, they glance at the young men and smirk,

exchanging a wink and a grin, and then the little green light above them glows,

and they push the doors open and without a word and depart for their separate

saturdays.