Thursday 26 November 2009

#100 - City Road Bus Stop

I'm at the bus stop,
thinking about that prick Kit
and how my fallen arches
make waiting so utterly shitty.

Nifty's teachers have asked us
to come in. Apparently he's
being disruptive. I have moments
where I genuinely wonder

if I love my kids. Is this it?
Am I supposed to be grateful
for this pipsqueak contentment?
I try to roll a cigarette -

my skins blow into the road.
Typical. These days, my lower
lumbar's crocked so I have to
make a decision when I stoop.

So this is what it is to be alive.
Gathering fag papers out the gutter.
I snatch up a fistful,
too damp to use

and then, I hear the bus horn.

I look up.
Death's wearing His conductor's cap.
His sockets are full of daylight.

I always knew He'd come back.

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