two women at a bus stop

A poem. By me.

“two women at a bus stop”

Strangers. One, to the other. 
“I love the guy who paid my debt.” 
“You wha?” 
“I love the guy who paid my debt.” 
“You love the guy who paid your debt?” 
“Yes?”
“Okay.” 
Cars whoosh. Tires tread. Engines combust. 
“I want to introduce you to the guy who paid my debt.” 
“You what?” 
“I want to introduce you go the guy who paid my debt.” 
“Okay.” 
“He’s right here.” 
The woman held out her open palm. 
The other looked at her empty hand.
“He lives here.” Her eyes pointing to her hand. “He’s my friend. I want him to be your friend.” 
“Um.” 
Cars whoosh. Tires tread. Engines Combust. 
“You have debt, too, you know?” 
“What?”
“You have debt, too. I have the bill right here.” 
In her other hand, she holds a line-itemed bill with a number in the billions. 
It’s addressed to “everyone, anywhere, at any time.” 
“I don’t owe anything.” 
“Yes you do.” 
“No I don’t.” 
“It says it right here.” 
“What is the bill for?” 
“Our ancestors ate a meal. They didn’t pay. With interest, inflation and tax, you must pay this bill.” 
“No. No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. It says right here. You must pay, too.” 
“Who is billing for this debt?” 
“My friend who paid the debt.” 
Cars whoosh. Tires tread. Engines combust.