Standing in the weeds
behind the bus stop,
waiting. Hope
I do not catch a tick 
and Lyme disease or Babeosis
or have some larger
unknown something
sneak up behind me.

I of course could step out
into the shelter of
the glass box provided, or
get all the way onto 
the sidewalk to wait,
certainly — but that’s how
you become a target.

Let’s be clear that the bus
holds its own threats,
the destination as well is
dangerous, and the ride home
when all is done? A doubling down,
a repetition; a breeding Ground Zero
for the fear in just being alive
in these days.

I could just ride the bus
with my eyes closed
and headphones on, 
I suppose, as so many do
because there seems to be
so few options;

can’t help thinking
that somewhere out in these weeds
may be an Answer disguised
as a threat
and I’m just too conditioned 
to believing in the danger 
of this world to turn around
and face it down and 
draw it close and
see what it truly wants
from me,
from the frightened world
we’ve made.