Late Afternoon Commute

Late Afternoon Commute

by Kylee Bustard

Her sweatshirt is plain, no chain lines her neck

yet lingering eyes drop down to her chest.

She shrugs on her coat and pulls on a toque,

disguising her hair in chance of a fluke.

The 4:30 trail is fading in dusk—

She can’t help but hear the gravel’s faint hush;

The street lamps — stepping stones on a pond.

The jarring echo of boots spurs her on.

The figures drift her way. “Is she alone?”

It all makes her wish she were already home.