To the girl on the bus.

I saw your face in the flyer,
your fathers looking for you y’know?
I suppose I should’ve mentioned it, but that was quite some time ago.
You looked focused on that book you were reading,
maybe I should’ve asked what it was about.
I was going to eat a tuna sandwich on the way,
but it’s not the most pleasant smell so I opted to go without.
I liked your skirt, I wonder if you knew it had a hole.
I assume you did, because the color on the floral pattern was starting to dull.
On the way home I saw your face in the flyer again,
but not for the same reason as the last.
My mother mentioned over dinner that there was a car accident, apparently some girl and another driver had passed.
I didn’t know your name until the day of the crash,
and I’m certain I will forget it, as time messes with my memory.
I saw your mom crying on the local news, because her daughter is now just another body to bury.
I hope that reckless driver knows that there is now a mother out there writing her daughter’s obituary.
But he won’t.
He’ll never know the girl he killed had just learned how to drive.
He’ll never know the girl he killed had family at home expecting her to arrive.
He’ll never know the girl he just killed passed a test she thought she was going to fail with a ninety-five.
In fact,
he’ll never know there ever was a girl,
because to him,
all there was,
was a car.