A New Poem I Wrote

Stares

The African lady on the bus is
Holding a Pepsi cup of red 40 dye,
Shoving a slice of grease topped pizza into her mouth.
Her fingers are covered in the grease and the paper bag is leaking it onto her lap.
She stares at me.
A lot of people stare at a bald woman.
I wonder what they think;
If they want to speak but don’t know what to say;
I think they see cancer now instead of me.
It’s the kids who say something-
I like that they aren’t afraid to speak.
I like that when they do speak they embarrass their parents.
They are kids; they don’t know why I’m bald.

The lady keeps staring.
I think I scare her.
She looks at me like I am death staring her down
And she knows what she’s eating is disgusting.
The people back in Africa probably have no concept
That this greasy bread and red coloured drink are considered food.
I look past her, out the window at the blowing trees.
I keep seeing nature and wanting to hug it like I am its mother.

She gets up and gives her seat to a child so she won’t
Have to look at me anymore.
I’m not offended.
Maybe her next meal will be healthier.