The Bus Route

I find a seat

amongst the lifeless bodies

of the FY8.

 

Fourteen days of rain

seems not to detain

their motionless procession

of city, estate, city, hospital, repeat

and again.

 

Then youth embarks, child in hand.

The former looks dreary,

the child’s eyes are teary

and the sight makes me weary

of this town.

 

Each hour I remain exerts the power

to pluck, like petals from a flower,

the years of my life

 

Until I find my place

amongst the lifeless bodies

of the FY8.

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