At the bus stop in London,
I wait fixated for the next one to arrive,
Observing all the passengers,
Snug and embroiled in their lives,
Get on and off the bus,
As another conductor looks through me,
Like I didn’t exist.
The traffic is heavy,
But moving quickly,
Like a symphony,
I am transfixed, watching the people,
And the noise,
As if it didn’t happen,
But I know it all did,
Some lives must have been affected by me,
But I seem of little use or effect right now.
Watching as another bus and its cargo,
Stay in perpetual motion.