A to B (Poem)

Nothing matters for a public bus
not even the goodbyes and the hellos
the monkish machine barks with
a horn which sounds like
I don’t care, just move away
your dead language and luggage.

On a Friday night
it is more busy than a god
and pissy than a waiting woman.
the master morality of the commoner
cannot mine moral salts from it.
it shows off a it is what it is
attitude and waves at time with old boy stoicism.

Going from A to B should be about
A to B
not seeing murders on the road,
not interviewing 1998 thoughts,
not smoking political cigarettes,
not flirting with 6.5% inflation,
and
not multiplying the debt of your nostalgic debt
while tasting Gaza news in the BBC market.

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