Night Bus

Night. Bus. London. Scene

Journey home on the night bus

That old lady yesterday in rags
Has made me pause. A thought
persists in me that I should care
That the residue of my compassion
The memory of displaced dust
Should be so ruffled
I desire to make amends
this new day begins in comfort
And my plans do not permit
Strangers to invade that domain
So, bathed in clean, bright light
The cleansing winter cold
Is a promise. A route to play
And I embrace that
Somewhere between Green Park
and Hammersmith Broadway
I imagine she lingers still
In the dust and the smell
Of the lost and foundering
And I am