Knitting Man

By Lucianne Poole

The Bank Street stop where the quick knit took place.

Man at the bus stop

leaning against the garbage can

needles flying,

stabbing the cold air.

Furious race against time

to finish the baby blanket,

in fresh cream wool,

before the number 7 arrives.

Steel-framed glasses on

a nose red with cold.

Like a male grandmother

who likes a good brawl.

Wild, wind-whipped hair

rises in warning.

He looks up sharply.

Roar of traffic,

but no bus.

Our eyes meet.

His glare says:

"I don't want to hear it.”

Here's another wierd story from my years riding the number 7 bus in the city of Ottawa, Ontario. Knitting Man is one of the few poems I've written. In 2009, I submitted it to Geist, which published my story Chainsaw Man. Geist gently rejected it as "a bit slight to stand on its own." If only I had taken a photo of him...but then knitting man may have stabbed me or at least given me a good jab with one of his needles.

Update: I think I've discovered the identity of "knitting man". Check out this article in the Ottawa Citizen.