The bus seats are a riot
of eighties brown-and-orange;
gum-flecked and grease-stained.
Wet coats steam a little.
No-one speaks
as is always the case,
though their shoulders,
and even thighs
gently rub,
cramped together on the benches.
And the bus chunters on, through
white
wet
fog.
Droplets condense on smeared window glass,
as outside grey skies
and neon raincoats pass.
Newspapers rustle
and the headphone hi-hats rattle
as we all ride the bus,
unsmiling,
into work again.
Isn’t public transport in wet weather a drab experience? In fact it’s fairly un-fun in pretty much any weather, as each person shuts the imaginary curtains around their personal world, and puts on a blank expression as they strenuously avoid any sort of human contact with everybody around them. It would be nice to chat to each other on buses and trains, and sometimes it will happen, but the fact is that if someone strikes up conversation with you on public transport there is a fair to good chance they will be a nutter. I guess that’s why everyone shuts themselves off in their own world.
Ocksblog 
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