Day Seventy

Today's words:

Bus station

Night

Chameleon

Union

Spark

Cane

You sat in the nearly-empty bus station

In the middle of the night

That, like a chameleon,

Blended everything together in a union

Of grey. The only spark

Of color was the top of your cane,

Which was red. Standing up, you leaned on your cane

And surveyed the bus station.

The spark

Of life had long ago dimmed in the people there that night.

Their collective loneliness brought them union

And like a chameleon

You blended in with them. Ah, but what chameleon

Carries a flamboyant cane?

Your union

With the denizens of the bus station

At midnight

Was not complete. Your lighter gave off a spark

As you lit a cigarette. At the sight of the spark

The chameleon

Awoke and the night

People began to edge closer. You waved them away with your cane.

Bad enough to be trapped in the bus station

Until the morning bus; there'd be no union

With the people who basically live there, no union

And no spark

Of friendship or anything like it at this bus station.

However much a chameleon

You might want to be your cane

Would keep you separate from the other night

People, who on this night,

As usual, had come seeking union

With other lost souls. Your cane

And the spark

From your lighter separated you from the chameleon-

Like homogeneity of the other sad people in the bus station.

Night time is worst for the down and out; no spark

Of life animates their union; they survive, chameleon-

Like, to avoid the cane of the manager of the bus station.