[untitled]

This five-year old boy is looking
at the two art students sitting
next to him. The girl has
her septum pierced and
large headphones.

“Stop staring,” his young
mother whispers.
His eyes are old. He eats
French Onion Sun Chips
carefully, with purpose.

He is mixed—
luscious curly hair,
creamy tan skin.
His mother’s dyed red hair is
tied up in a messy bun. She
talks to the train conductor.

He notices me smiling
at him, and smiles back
(minus a front incisor).

“He is so cute,” I remark to
his mother. She acknowledges with
an unsurprised, “Thank you.”

He waves to me. I wave back
and watch him eat,
entranced. He devours
a chip, forcing it comically into
his small mouth. I giggle.

His mom wipes the
crumbs off his face and shirt,
opens a Pepsi and
gives him a sip.

“I like soda,” he says.

We all get off at
Brigham Circle.

He grabs his mother’s
hand. She instructs him,
“Say goodbye.”
He turns and waves, with
an exuberant, “Bye!”

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