Poem 63

Another bus poem from the depths of ’81 – a long walk home to Hataitai after a fruitless foray …

After The Last Bus – November

That cigarette toppling
from a car
breaking in points motor red
as it sparked down the road
whipped in a lean on wind
I remember principally
Island Bay Newtown
the silent Caledonian
and shuffling on the streets
half a song mumbled under breath
swearing revenge at every step