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

Advertisements

Public Transport

Rickety, reckless, ridiculous more like! A young couple. 19? Baby in pram. A father, a nuisance, tattooed skull and ring on his finger, fingers round her waist. Hair like straw, attacked with heat from the night before?   Window-screen adaption to a day-time performance 'Town please.' she says '1.40, love.' I mutter. The baby shrieks,… Continue reading Public Transport