By Len Kuntz
It was there on the bus when he got off
so I took it, cradled the still-warm leather which was
crookedly curled and molded from his shape.
I breathed in the musk and sweat smell, absorbing its dull mystery.
I took my time examining the contents, pleased to learn his wife was
not that pretty after all.
When the bus pulled over at my stop
I skipped down the steps and kept skipping down the street
thinking, “There’s room for me.”
Utterly unpredictable and brilliant.