Frank

So Frank sits waiting and waiting,
waiting for Love to board the bus.
His hope as bright as the sun,
so is his glittering golden smile,
as he stares out of the window
thinking, “She’ll be perfect.”

Frank has never seen Love,
but he knows her by that name.
He has it all perfectly planned out
just for him and her.
He can’t help imagining and wishing
and thinking, “Someday.”

As Frank passes the hundredth stop,
the clear blue turns into coal black—
yet again, Love’s nowhere in sight.
His smile grows long and weary—
his heart's still empty.
Poor Frank wonders, “Why?”

Time the bus driver finally speaks,
“You’ve been around for nineteen years
and you might still be for another sixty—
Why not just enjoy the ride?”
Frank turns away from the window
and to his right: a warm smile.

“Hi.”