The Erosion of Confidence

“Does this bus go to Kroger?” I look up from my book. “No.”
Roughly my age, the slender man has a thick accent,
sturdy clothes the color of mustard, a grey cloche,
and a deeply lined face. He nods, tired, but intent.
“Does this bus go to Kroger?” “No,” I repeat, “it doesn’t.”
“Oh.” He glances down. “Does this bus go to Meijer’s?”
“No.” “Oh.” He cups his hands in his lap, patient.
A block later, he repeats, “Does this bus go to Kroger?”,
pauses, then adds, “You see?” and shows me a paper,
his prescription. He tries to pass it to me, but,
embarrassed, I don’t take it. “If you need a drug store,
there is one on the corner here. See?” I point.
He looks, obedient. “Get off at this next stop,” I add,
as I do so. He nods. The bus drives on. I watch, sad.


4 responses to “The Erosion of Confidence

  1. Fantastic, again. I’ve never managed sonnets that appear formless.

  2. Thank you very much for the kind comment! I am really a bit baffled by this new trend I seem to have for telling stories in sonnet form. They are even mostly syllabics, pretty decent about the rhyme schemes, and actually sound readable, like a regular person talking. Surprising to me, but I guess this is what happens when you’ve been writing sonnets fairly regularly for over 30 years. 😉

  3. very nice – would not have guessed sonnet (just shows my ignorance)

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