Bus Stop Moms

It sunny, its hot, yes, I see that it rained

Like drops of small talk

That stick to me, vocal humidity

We compare calories

And size each other up

Putting each other in invisible boxes

smart, pretty, athletic, and lazy

Our common ground is kid-talk

The whine about whining

Or wine-ing to numb it away

An awkward pause stands between us

The stranger needling us to talk

To fill chasms of empty space

As we await rescue from our kids

The acquainted strangers I see everyday

Just a paper-doll mom

Cardboard thin because we don’t let anyone in

I blame me too

A closed-door face behind examination eyes

I lack the words so I let silence speak

I am an iceberg mom

Cold, sharp, and best avoided

Idle chat crashes against me

And drowns under my deeper thoughts.