The Man and the Woman

He stood there as a soldier
in his military black,
pacing up and down in restless energy
every few minutes,
and clenching his fists
in empty pockets.

She ran like a child
for the bus she would never catch
and wandered worriedly around the stop
when she found herself alone.

He looked with impatience
at the fingers of his watch,
producing a slide rule,
on which to calculate the
correct degree of anger to be shown.

She waited anxiously,
water welling in her eyes,
staring so hard it hurt to see
along the street
in the direction from which her buses came.

He took out a cigarette,
spent three matches in lighting it,
walked up and down and up once more,
and then away,
cursing as he went.

She saw him go
as her bus passed by,
she still a passenger upon it,
weighing her self-respect against her pain.
And an idle, painted advertising slogan
met her eyes, insisting

'It's better by bus.'