the door to the apartment building opens,
she steps out,
stands in the snow,
and the cold,
must be only twenty degrees,
shivering in shorts,
a sweatshirt,
and snow boots,
her nipples visible through the fabric,
I watch from the bench,
across the walk,
an old man,
waiting for a bus,
the mystery still unsolved,
when my bus appears,
turning slowly,
she begins to amble down the street.
Doug Polk