Poem 84

December 1981 … the last of the bus poems (sequence: 37, 42, 48, 63, 84)  … a happy end, who’d have thought? …

Early Bus

We had to remark on the storm
the old man and me
in the bus shelter 6:15am
and I could have said your digital clock
had flashed to warn us at 2:30
that lightning had blacked out the city
and we'd have to trust to ourselves to wake
and how I stretched a hand across your stomach
and we spoke a word or two
by morning forgotten but for the sound of a voice

but I said nothing of this to the old man
just climbed aboard the bus in a wrecked morning
sky pale as a punk
headachy purged
sure the worst was over