795624  Poems Read Home Login

 The Unfairness Of Angels

dreamweavertheunfairnessofangels
207


The 207 bus heads down the Uxbridge road
Past the Polish man with no fixed abode
Heading towards Hayes By Pass
I sit at the back of the bus, next to the broken class
The smell of chips whiff through the air
Past the teenage punk with spiked green hair
The Asian man and his wife
Whose clothes smell of some unknown spice?
Past the rundown grey council blocks
And the boarded up corner shops
The bendy bus swerves to its next stop
And school kids get on drinking fizzy pop
The mobile phone sounds from every direction
And the businessman groans at his loss of concentration
The babe gets on and gives me a look
Pass the geek reading his book
I have my headphones on and I look out the window
Looking at the West London's crazy show







©2000 - 2022, Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.

Visit My Home Page | Start Your Own Poetry Site | PoetryPoem
[ Control Panel ]  [ Today's Poetry - ALL Poets ]   [ Search ]