AIR II                                     


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

carbonises schoolruns


my hand closes on a can of coke

summer stutters

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,

optimism handholding

late for school.


If I hitch my tartan skirt above my knee

will this tall Achilles be intrigued

even enamoured?


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,

no map.


Just the indeterminate direction to a blanked out vehicle

with no upstairs, no caps,

just lower case.


A culture of sacrifice.


© ME Muir