Catching the wrong bus

17 Feb

I met her at the bus stop,
our eyes met over cigarettes.
Something transmitted
and we spoke a while.
Instant obvious attraction.
She was Romanian,
living in Manchester,
flying home to see family.
She looked intently.
“You are nice man, will you watch my bag?”
and she went to find the toilets.
Then I took the English gent further;
decoding the timetable wording for her,
standing close to shield her
as she lit another fag.
Our hands touching.
“Are you going on my bus?”
she said, hopeful. Soft smile.
An hour in the wrong direction?
“No. Sorry, I’m going home.”

She asked again 2 minutes later.
An hour. To an airport. For a girl who lived in Manchester.
“No. I can’t.”
Her bus came,
she waved sadly and went.
Riding home I realised that this was the wrong bus.

One Response to “Catching the wrong bus”

  1. belfastdavid February 23, 2011 at 1:20 pm #


    So often I have caught the wrong bus.
    And, once caught, there is no way back!!


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