Diesel Bus Fumes

On a grey throated morning
a diesel bus passes
as I walk to the station
evoking crowded memories
of seasons long since turned,
a bright recollection springs up;
a red vinyl backseat
sticks to  my legs
on a hot summer’s evening;
I know any slight wriggle
will sting so I am listening.
The car engine sighs
on a long country road;
I sprawl on my back
looking up, out of the window
counting the stars,
marking their colours,
gold, brilliant white
and twinkles of blue.

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10 thoughts on “Diesel Bus Fumes

  1. Isn’t this just a little moment, a vignette of a brief, insignificant and easily forgettable, yet not forgettable moment..? The stuff of great poets is to be able to make compelling reading such such insignificances.

    Gosh, I think I’m truly quite moved by this poem, M.

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