A Petrarchan sonnet (yes, really) on getting a night bus to catch an international train …
I used to but I haven’t missed this bus
At 5a.m., a half-full cart to take
The staff who clean and guard before you wake
Who start the engines ‘fore the rest of us
From brief repose unwilling exodus
Hold open half-mast eyes on work-worn faces
Resignedly wishing they weren’t going places
No chat, no caucus, nothing to discuss
But then I disembark and change my routes
And switch dimensions through a boarding gate
Some two hours later morning, bright debate
White, coffee-charged commuters sporting suits
While most of those on night bus 38
Were black and wearing hi-vis, smocks and boots
