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.


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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