I LOVE GOING TO WORK IN NOVEMBER

The rubberised edges

Of the windscreen wipers

Of this decrepit bus

Whine like pathetic puppies

About to be drowned.

 

There is no sky.

There is no day.

There is no night.

 

The bus proceeds through

Featureless grey murk,

On and on and on,

Whilst its windscreen wipers whine.

 

The passengers cough.

The driver coughs.

Some get on.

Some get off.

Somehow.

I love going to work in November.

rediscovered 22/10/2023