Glowing Windows embedded into mouldy brick walls
Ivy climbing the gutters of neighbourhood roofs
Skies becoming burnt out like charred blackened fields

Tall spiny trees project shadows onto the road below
Leaves curl up to receive some weakening light from above
A formation of sputtering cars cling to each turn they decide to make
Cloudy milky light bounces off faulty windows that exhale the aroma of somebodies impending supper

A heavy truck manoeuvres itself into the blistered bitumen horizon
Dry deflated branches make obscene gestures towards passers-by
Gardeners rummage through their bags as they near the end of their working day
Their faces filled with an expired enthusiasm for breathing

Parked hunks of metal pelted with dead itchy leaves
Windscreen wipers hold fragile twigs down against grotty neglected glass
Chain-link fences link disparate housing and the sleeping people within
Some dispirited unsatisfied psychos gaze up as they catch a moving bus

Smoky Incense billows down from some apartment balcony
The air becomes cold and sharply fills these ordinary streets
Engine sounds try to supress the divine quietness
They only merge into it

Now the stars are out and about
Bright specks waddling in an aerial pool of dark blue
You turn the key and walk through the front door

Ticket, Ticket Everywhere
Money, Money Everywhere
Everything is Reserved
For the Money makers and Rich

Want to ride in a Bus, Car or Taxi
Or Travel in Ship, Train or Aeroplane
Use your brain, my dear
Please shell out some money

Oh Sorry, You dropped that ugly idea
Then what you are going to go?
Going to Circus or to watch a film
Want to go to a Book fair or a fete

Still have to Shell out some Money
It's not that funny, O' Honey
It's Business, Serious Business
Oh No, You can't even go to Public Park

Or the River bank either
Oh want to use Public Toilets
Do you think it's free?
No my dear, just Pay and Use

You need some Food, Nice Cold drink
Or want to sip just a glass of plain water
Pay Some Money, Money and Money
Money is the religion and the faith

Need a Pen to write your pain
Again I have to ask for Money
We Money monger are the rules
You Un-employed are the problem

Either pay or perish, that’s a simple rule
That’s a golden Rule, Follow it
Don't try to break it. If you do
I bet, you will fail and fall in jail

6:56PM
Waterloo Bridge/Southbank
stone cold shells
with staircases of
helter skelter;
the thames is high
with christmastide
Lancaster Place
6:58PM

I thought you became exasperated when I sat next to you
However, you greeted me with the most sweetest and delicate tone
You stared me right in the eyes and instantly recognized my dull face
I never thought of myself as a memorable person, but I was to you
We exchanged our memories of junior year and for the first time in a while, I actually felt like someone had a genuine interest in me
Although we never spoke much before this interaction, I had a feeling that I’ve known you for ages
The bus arrived at your stop and my heart sank as I watched you grab your belongings
I let out a soft “goodbye” and smiled
I’m glad that I chose the correct seat

Bouquet of unfamiliar faces
Minding own business.
Each with own story to tell
But ‘shhhh, it’s a secret’.
Excluding none takes the ride
That leads them to the next destination.
Only oneself know of
The coming journey to be told.
Sudden nudge on the back,
‘Excuse me,’
There goes one.
But no worries,
Vacant spots are to be
Filled with new,
Name less companions.
I see them come and go
As I wait
For my own story to
Unfold.

Seventy minutes or years
The bus does not stop

We ride past invisible fields
Through birch forests
I see their ghosts
In the headlights' glow
By day it could be Wisconsin
Or Indiana or Michigan

Our people have well-hidden scars
Seeds of pain buried deep
Underneath these invisible fields
Brother betrayed brother here
And many times before that
Since the first of us

Fairy lights dance on the horizon
Assemble to make a suburb
The bus does not stop
By night it could be Wisconsin
Or Indiana or Michigan
And so it is

Seventy years or minutes
To process these thoughts

And in that time
Seeds of pain may grow
Into a harvest of love
If we choose