Sitting at the back of the bus-
red,
double-decker,
stereotype British,
you just need the queen resurrected from the dead, a telephone box, and a box of PG Tips and it’s the American definition of Great Britain.
That’s if…
you ignore the fact that the queens been dead for 14 months,
every telephone box we’ve passed has a homeless man slumped against it (who may or may not be dead, but they’re probably just off their face so we’ll ignore them anyway),
and the only PG tips being given is parents telling their kids to look away when we pass yet another woman standing on yet another street corner…
I wish that I could stay on this bus all day,
just being driven around and around,
directionless
watching light turn to dark,
commuters rushing,
rush hour fading,
still sitting at the back of the bus
hoping that, when I get off, the homeless men will have homes,
the women won’t need to sell themselves just to be able to live,
and the world will be kinder.
One can but dream
of a truly ‘Great’ Britain…
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