In a thousand years
buses would be lost to memory
except they learn you cried on one.
In ten years
you will laugh to think
that you wept on a bus for this.
In a hundred years
your grandchildren will feel
this same emotion on different vehicles.
And oh, the edge of the night,
the bus drawing you away:
feel, think, memory.
A thousand years ago
your ancestors managed living
well enough to have descendants.
Ten years ago
when you were a child playing
could you have imagined tonight?
A hundred years ago
someone else was weeping
in this city, for these reasons.
There are strangers all around you
the bus is drawing you further, further,
weeping, playing, living,
feel, think, memory.
21st September 2017
