The Last Bus Home
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Published: 3rd April 2021
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
For a couple of years in the early '80s I was a junior clerk at a national UK bank. I made some friends for life but absolutely hated the work. Every night I would have to run for my bus home because if I missed it there would be a very long wait for the next one. For some reason, forty years later, those times have taken on an air of romanticism all of their own.
I’d leave my workplace just before
The hands crept round to five once more
To race the clock and buy the time
I needed then to queue in line
To catch my breath in freezing rain
And board the bus back home again.
Then as those doors hissed shut behind
I’d feel a weight lift from my mind
And walk the aisle to find a seat
Just as the lights lit up the street
And by the time that I'd sat down
The last bus home was leaving town.
The years play tricks on all of us
So when I think back to that bus
And smile describing as to how
I caught it then but miss it now
I'm sure it's down to time's weird ways
I hated work yet loved those days!
Copyright © Gary Radice | Year Posted 2021
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