Tired
TIRED
The bus sways from side to side on anonymous bends
Driver calls out stops and people shuffle off or on,
Not interested in the journey; but glad to be homebound.
Women with shopping bags look
Fat and tired of holding up their own weight.
Men are stoop shouldered and overcrowded in the aisles,
Waiting for their stops, cigarette in lips ready for lighting,
Turning up collars to get off and grab an elevator
And flop on a couch with a coffee.
I am too tired to look where the bus is going:
Flashing supermarket sign sweeps in and out of my misty pane
And then a filling station with lines of cars almost out of gas.
Bright traffic passes the night-darkened window fogged
With the breaths of sighing worn out passengers.
The seats creak with their overload of people.
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