Poem: Bus Ride

Please let it be, that it’s a joke,
played perfectly on April first.

Because standing at a bus stop,
I see a couple, breaking up.

Even in the dim moody light,
of a streetlamp, and the headlights,
of various cars hurrying home.
They look beautiful. Together.

But she takes one bus.
He’s waiting for another.
He sort of sighs and catches,
my eye and my bus.
Gets off at London Bridge.

And I am left, picking
up their carelessly strewn pieces.