WAVING THE BUSES PAST

i
dont
move
now
how
i
used
to

i used to dance
with the heavy stock
in a warehouse ballet

tipping
endless
trucks
in
the
hurricane storm theatre
of
a
night shifts
dense AM
service road
fox parade

~

now i drag myself now

gimpy

lame

along the evacuated 
daytime streets
to the
bus stop benches

where i fold up
and wheeze
on the downlow
so no one knows

waving the buses pass

i only want outdoor air

and a glimpse
of
the
streetside
and 
the 
flashbacks
i left there

~

and
i
feel 
like 
an 
office-busted pensioner feels
in their 
last outdoor 
dog walking days

ankles wired
to the antiques roadshow
and 
the 
easy chair tune

but i dont wear 
their beige uniform

i will never wear 
that beige uniform

~

and
i
feel
like
i
been
eaten
up
by
the early chapters
proposition and drama
and
am
a 
shadow of a subplot

in danger of
heavy editing

~

so 
i 
quietly go about
my essential work
in
the
morning pockets

filing the reports
and 
writing the footnotes
under
the
cotton mist

but plotting 
a 
steppenwolf redemption

and planning 
a 
war with the machines

in
a
geriaction
sequel
coda

clumber park cricket ground bus stop from bbc.co.uk