four

the bumpy old bus

sputtering down hillside road

through the shade of the roadside trees

coming back from town

crowded with an odd assortment of passengers

hot and sweaty

young and old

men and women

Chinese, Indian, Malay and American too

standing and sitting uncomfortably

passing through the green fields

dotted with many tomb-stones

stopping suddenly at the gates

of the old Chinese cemetery

as some passengers step down into the dust

a solitary figure slips quietly on board

unnoticed by any of the others

an old specter of an unremarkable man

long gray beard and flowing gray hair

clad in a black suit and tie and topped by an old-fashioned hat

holding an umbrella under the shoulder and supported by a cane

hands thin as bones, bare, white and gaunt

standing silently by the rear door

the gears shift, the doors squeak noisily shut

on old woman fidgets about

glancing nervously over her shoulder

a young school boy in green shorts and white shirt

books in arms

scrambles to retrieve some shillings

slipped through his fingers and rolling across the floor

a baby begins to cry

and the impatient ticket lady forgets to check the old man

the driver grimaces in the rear view mirror

and squints into the light of the windshield

perhaps thinking he saw someone sneak on board

as the bus lurches forward

by fits and grumbly starts

rumbling slowly down the bumpy old road

outside other people are strolling lazily about

beneath the canopies of the wide green trees

no one on board pays any more attention to the old man

or bothers looking out across the green hillsides

slowing down at the next stop

just beyond the road

the door swings open another time

as more expectant passengers crowd on the bus

no one notices the old man

as he steps gently, silently down

maybe hidden by the crowd of new passengers

piling on board

there is perhaps

another ghost or two

daring a brief afternoon excursion

in the cooling breezes

from the blue ocean