Commuters

This man on the bus

wears a faded brown shirt,

a window seat

and a ponytail, 

but never a smile.

He checks 

my shoes,

my hands 

and tattoos,

but never my eyes.

This man on the bus

carries a doubt,

a subway ticket 

and a fault,

but never a cry.

He owns 

a picture frame,

a yard and

a name,

but never a heart.

(Written for the State College of Florida Swampscribes prompt for NaPoWriMo day 1)