i’ve never known her name,
i think she lives on lowther street, that’s where the bus stops.
her hair is short, black and silky, her
teeth protrude just a little
and she always gets mad when the bus is late.
“…this bus late, this no good, no foocking good
this bus…”
she tells us all, her small hands upturned
as if holding dainty birds.
she checks the clock again, she checks
the schedule again,
“… no foocking good this bus…”
she never tells the driver, afraid he may not
stop at lowther street.
but always, every day, as she walks off down lowther street
she reaches back
and gently ever so,
tugs her underwear from her ****
to ease her journey.