Bus Stop Boy

Bus Stop Boy

It's frozen and he's fallen to his knees;
it's less in degrees than it is in
fahrenheit and the light of the
afternoon sun is incandescent at best.
He, and the bus stop, are barely visible and the
battery on his phone is red and in single digits:
the screen brightness turned down and
he's wiping infant tears from the gorilla
glass, scratch proof and now one number lighter.

He's already missing her wide brimmed hat and
her wardrobe that matched.