later the heavy burdened air
struggles to lift off
as the jet stream
lungs lose momentum
Celsius hits 40
a gauze of bankrupt breath
escapes from runners lined
along Victoria Embankment
children play slowly
when aggressive NOx
my hand closes on a can of coke
over the yellow grass.
© ME Muir
The Culture of Bus Stops
As the culture of bus stops appropriates Iphigenia,
the L shape, pole and bench
the T shape, shelter or an altar.
Or macho and alone, the basic I
even the O, no sign no post,
it only stops for locals.
The culture of bus stops is an alphabet of childhood,
late for school.
If I hitch my tartan skirt above my knee
will this tall Achilles be intrigued
Misspent waiting with Georgina on a Friday night
we make the letter U to hitch a lift,
considering the concept of orgasm.
By the golf course at St.Andrews when the last bus
has gone indelibly locked together
it is truly a W.
The culture of bus stops is dying now with smartphone takeover
no timetable, no A to Z,
Just the indeterminate direction to a blanked out vehicle
with no upstairs, no caps,
just lower case.
A culture of sacrifice.
© ME Muir