Waiting for a Bus

I have my bag with me
Books, clothes and stuff that I
Packed for my journey
I see the city of so many memories
Forming its own song of
Loneliness and desolation as
People move through their lives
Sketching autobiographies on tenement walls
Finding some sense of being
Against the anonymity that
Paints its isolation on Tube train carriages, some
Distant youth staring vacantly
Drifting through the
Rhythms of his headphones, swaying slightly as the
Music invites him to dance with its oblivion, the
Afro Caribbean mother and
Two small children who
Tug at her coat in impatience
The man with the mike telling us that
Jesus loves us, and
Inviting us to be saved
Pigeons scattering on the footpath
Each one its own history as the
Carbon monoxide paints the sky with its
Signature monochrome grey
People move through themselves
Barely noticing each other as they
Ply their own particular routines
The graffiti forming its own
Religion on the
Metal gratings that
Board the shop fronts against some possible thief, the
Cider-glazed eyes of the homeless as he
Searches for cigarette ends and the
Congealed form of some
Remnants of take out, a dinner of sorts, the
Man who stands shouting at himself because the world does not hear him
Declaring his pain in the
Acridity of car exhaust
And the rustle of newspapers, the
Silent figures that
Wear their anonymity as some
Badge of existence
Declaring their
Loneliness as their bus goes past
Frozen faces caught in the windows like some
Silent ballet of despair
My bus arrives
I clamber on, clutching my belongings and
ind a seat behind some old lady who
Looks straight in front of herself, searching for some
Glimpse of companionship in a
City of solitude, a
City of frozen dreams…