Like Waiting for Rural Buses

by Adam Horovitz on December 15, 2015

from a conversation with Jane Commane on Twitter

Sometimes writing poems
is like waiting for rural buses.
Nothing comes. You stare at hedgerows.
Argue with crows. A little more
nothingness on the pitted tarmac.

Blown out umbrella, the sky a black,
expectant lattice. People pass in cars,
laugh at your predicament.
Then rain, a persistent mizzle
that sticks like oil.

About to go home, the light
an hour away from failing,
a rackety bus crawls to a halt,
takes you on the scenic route
whilst a little old lady,

clinging determined to the seat in front,
fixes you with one angelic eye,
sucks her teeth and tells you
absolutely everything
you never thought you’d want to know.

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