Sleeping commuters leave Ghostly auras amidst The foggy plastic windows. They slumber through The booming snore Of exhaust-pipes, choking smoke.
Silence. Or closest to. Even stopped, the Bus roars, Patiently brooding, growling, As a wolf in the underbrush Watching the crimson lights, sharp Like blood on a pavement.
A small cat, uncollared, Sprints across the road But is pounced upon. The wheels creak, Commuters stir, and the Bus Stalks away into the night.
A poem about human carelessness. #27 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.