I stand waiting for a bus.
Two women are next to me,
They're dreaming of good luck.
One asks the other
"Do you think it'll ever be?
Do you think I'll ever be happy?
Now that she's left me?"
A sister, a mother, a lover?
Who's to know.
But the pain in her voice is raw-
She can't have left long ago.
The wind causes my hair to spiral
And I flatten it in haste.
But the women don't seem to care-
No they don't want to waste
Any energy on themselves.
The other talks of her child:
A girl of almost three.
She speaks with such love,
Such joy but such woe:
She is worried her father will take her
Away from her home.
The bus pulls up and I mount it-
To me it's just a bus,
But to them its wonderful wheels,
Will take them to good luck.