Lady of the Bus

Her skin may need an iron’s once over, Its pigment is brash and fuchsia. But she smiles more than she did back then, So why bother with that cosmetic nonsense? Her day’s dictated by today’s timetable. ‘Lost’ doesn’t exist, ‘it’s adventure’, she insists. Quarter to the hour, or ten past, The maze of her head,… Continue reading Lady of the Bus

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The Illustrated Man

His canvas is withered; once a gallery display, Now ‘distasteful’ graffiti on recycled paper. If auctioned back then, they would’ve been collectible, Now faded, only fluorescent in sepia photographs.   Once young and kicking, but that’s forgotten, as if his art’s backdrop was always creased mess. Once complimented, they’re now ignored, Like taboo patterns on… Continue reading The Illustrated Man