Hand pressed against glass,
A small child gazes out
The bus's window.

"<Mom, who is that girl
With braids in her ponytails?
Why is she so sad?>"

"<Come, now,>" says his mom,
"<Don't stare at strangers like that.
It's not our concern.>"

"<But mom . . .>" he looks up.
"<She's coming over! Look! There!
She seems very mad.>"

"<It's rude to stare, son;
Just leave them to their own--ahh!>"
They're tossed from their seats.

"<Help!>" the boy calls out
Before he is crushed beneath
The weight of people.

"<I can't breathe! Help me!>"
But there is no help coming
Until it is late.

Largo, crushed beneath
The bus, looks into scared eyes.
A child looks at him.

Unable to speak,
Largo looks up with sadness.
I'm sorry, he thinks.

Two eyes, connected,
For a brief moment, dimming;
Their lives flare, then end.

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