Unasked For Current

The bus was packed, a shuffling press

of coats and bags. He turned too quick.

His hand, a momentary stress,

just grazed my head, a startling flick

across my scalp. No word, no look.

Just a brief, odd current left behind.

A stranger's touch, a history book

of nerve endings, abruptly signed

by someone else. A little hum

of static, where his fingers brushed.

My skin remembered, going numb

and then awake. A feeling hushed,

but sharp. A small intrusion, felt

when boundaries blur, when rules have dealt

a different hand.