I took the bus from seventh street and fourth
to twenty-second. I was stuck inside
for twenty minutes slowly moving north
with thirty or so bodies close beside.
A girl stood next to me and grabbed my arm
at tenth street when the bus jerked suddenly.
In here, her touch was merely in alarm.
No space between except, apparently,
infinity (where touch means “hold me, please”
but not “please hold me”). Once I knew the truth—
the truth that she was merely a reprise
of other touches, which betray my youth—
I pulled the cord; I left; I let her go.
I never thought that she was mine. Although—