Thursday, 28 April 2011

day/poem 28



-- 40 home from Bang --

the bus driver is eating a pear
enjoying it too, every grainy, juicy slurp
at stops, he leaves go of the steering wheel
grips the slippery fruit with both hands
his eyes riveted on its sadly decreasing flesh
chomps and swallows
doesn't miss a single drip
no wash needed for that shirt
when he's done

and in between, as he traverses his route
he holds it steady in one hand
steering and stopping with the other
eyes ahead, but sneaking glances at his luscious prize

he lingers overlong at each shelter
and every late night punter that runs to board
waving manically to flag him down
doesn't realise this driver's benevelonce stems
only from the precious pulp in his palm
and once core exits window
and trousers clean hands
he'll be back to being
wicked once again


3 comments:

  1. reminds me of the time I was on a night bus in brixton. the bus driver randomly parked the bus, went to a corner shop and bought rubicon juice. came back and continued driving. during the entire journey i sat wondering, this cant be life!

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  2. bus drivers are a species apart - not in a bad way, but just in a world of their own. for years i've been harbouring a poem i want to write, called 'brotherhood of the bus drivers' - maybe it'll actually emerge one day!

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  3. Once I had a night driver who didn't know the route. He'd take you home if you could direct him. He got a snack at a garage - so did everyone. As soon as I saw a tube station I got off. It was a long way home!
    Nowadays, post having a car crash I am continually fearful that the bus will crash... glad I haven't had a driver eating a pear! I couldn't have stayed on that bus, Wasi!

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