a cross and a treble clef
no larger than a snowdrop petal
inhabited her lapel;
this tiny sign of music
and belief
suddenly crystalized the  bus,
and all these voiceless strangers,
second class,
barred from flight by price,
became a snoring choir
sonorous under her conduction.

we hit all desired notes
and destinations
despite traffic and construction.
the fact that I remember still
that understated flash
of silver against the greyness
of her uniform
makes me wonder how
what I wear
also works on others
in the way that they sing.