two generations, judging by noses
an unruly shock of plain black hair waves,
and salt and peppered (low-sodium variety)
his feet conversant with grace

a university girl sits on a bag with wheels
it's big enough for a makeshift sofa

business-shirted one has run to catch us all
the sweat in his short cropped black hair
like sequins dressing up his scalp

a family wants to board but dad is sure of one door
mother firm to another, son a monkey in the middle
but dad holds his arm to make a majority ruling
mom and her chignon looks and doubles back

4 lean on orange winter bins of street salt
Each in line loosens, a sort of same-frame
animation of unfolding conversation,
each cross their legs at ankles,

leftmost with arms tight over chest,
must compress his innards.
second man in bib overalls has fingers laced
as if prayers were held across pelvis
the 3rd has arms as soft loops to his side
and the 4th in dressier pants, old shoes is
a gesticulation the others look away from

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