Saturday, 7 September 2013

Bus note 70

Girl in green dress;
        same green as the stop
        she stepped up from.
Everywhere is pebbledash
below delicious clouds.
        Past flyover
        with shadows
and past the Quarter's clock.
to Spring Hill
        and with Tesco cyst
        too vast
the holy terracotta library.


  1. Enjoying the sounds very much in this one.

  2. Must confess to an acute state of bus phobia at the moment. Stood one hour and five minutes by the kiosk waiting on the 18 bus, two nights back. The computerized electric scroll schedule thingie seemed to have gone haywire. It said next bus: 43 minutes and the following bus: 43 minutes also. Discouraged souls slumped and shuffled off silently as in a modern theatrical version of The Purgatorio writ by Sam Beckett. An F went by, two 51B's, another F, and so on. Finally after one hour and five minutes, an 18 showed up. Too crowded, no passengers allowed to board.

    We had no green dress girl but there was an extremely angry and combative lady in a lime green coat who was not about to stand down until she'd got her explanation from the harried stand-in driver who was covering the shift because there had been an inexplicable dereliction of duty somewhere up the line.

    He patiently attempted to explain the dereliction of his "leader" (the driver of the bus ahead of his) -- "I don't know what happened to her" -- but the green coat lady wasn't having any of that.

    You'll be dying to hear how this real life drama turned out, I'm sure... and I'd be happy to bore you to tears by telling you, had I not been spending the past forty-eight hours trying to forget the noisome details.

    Indeed I might have been able to do just that, but for the prompting of this latest green-clad female bus passenger.

    There may be no escape.

    Also trying not to think too much about that grand CystoMart.

    Green clothing is bad enough.

  3. Thank you, both.

    Tom, I do apologize for the green dress trigger. Few things more exhausting than watching someone working through some futile rage.

    The CystoMart; I had to share. It hurt the eyes so.