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.