The nosebleed.(New poems)(Poem)

 
The nosebleed 
 
   Waiting for a Bennington light to change, I 
   saw, last week, a girl lean against a woman, 
   both blond, standing outside a supermarket. 
   Mother, bent over, 
 
   asked some question (all this I saw; heard nothing). 
   Before the light turned, I had divined the problem. 
   When she lifted her face to her mother: Bingo. 
   It was a nosebleed. 
 
   "It's still bleeding a little," the daughter answered 
   as we ...