if you were a bus
i’d sit on your back seat
& rest my weary arse cheeks
but i’d rather you sat on me
i’d gaze out of your window
in between crossword clues
& see the town vanish
the grey becoming green
it’s leafier each blink
as blue rinsed biddies natter
on what to have for tea
& who should win strictly
i’d ride within your frame
& test your braking speed
the tyres & suspension
like a proper fuckin’ wrong’un
who should be on a register
& tagged for good measure
we would sweat in august
but warm a dark december
on the long road home
in the evening’s golden gloam
& then i’d ring your bell
when our stop approaches
…
resarf poetry 