Home

Passengers, side by side, shifting as the bus turns
Leftwards and leaning, urbanely unimpressed:
Back.
Pulsing gently between bends, silently and in unison,
All stomaching the churning of
Big black wheels sucking rain-slicked bitumen beneath them.
All effortlessly mourning the routine
Workaday journey past long pavements
Strewn with mashed newsprint
And bowed, scampering salarymen.

One man is leaning the wrong way,
Intent on taking some flesh
From the young woman beside him.
He is strangely alluring, it appears to her, standing now for his stop,
Surrendering his favourite seat and
Stepping off with one eye.

He is quickening for home, food and sexual love,
Having worked his shift
And earned his day.