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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