A Bus Journey

Top deck affords its randomly selected members
With eyes from steamed-up windows
One wipe with the back of a finger
Restores sight to view the world below

Two women, smiling, hug on the high street
A lady transported by the book she is reading
A man, impaired by less of a knee than when he was young
Making his way, shopping in a rucksack slung

And I, earbuds in, listening to a podcast:
Deitrich Bonhoeffer’s imperfect
But uniquely courageous
Opposition to the Nazi horror

Makes me wonder if I have eyes to see?
I wipe the window one more time
There is the departed Waterstones,
Its logo not quite brushed clean off

It’s raining icy splinters now
The rain gurgling its way to open drains
Each raindrop making a soft landing
The cold gnawing at my bones

The awkwardness of us in the rain
Dipping into pockets and wallets
Deep inside large cumbersome coats
Searching for library cards, bus passes, phones…

And a young man slumped on the seat
Leaning down to re-tie his wet
Unusually wide, very white Converse laces
All of us, heads down, quieter than usual

In Bristol we say ‘Thank you, Drive’
Then it’s off, following the feet
Of the one who alighted before,
Carrying two books, hidden from the rain

I stop at the corner shop, the owner’s Alsatian
Objects to me spending money
Always gives me a fright
Home now, book open, dry trousers on