The girl at the stop said
you can take this one too.
Bus filled with boys
of Solihull School, blazered,
expletives (ours, our language) thrown out
with such class, tidied-up violence
staining seat fabric. Bad air pallor is here.
They're doing their long divisions -
the part: delicate boy with guitar,
a whitened, unafraid and hurt face,
from the whole: fuckload of well-heeled cattle
everywhere loudly, the inheritors
of more than enough and more.
They do go on and on.