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55
in Hoxton tiny babies, graced by their
mums, board the bus
a furnace inside, the buggies irritate
each other,
sane souls like trapped rats make a
fuss
'you smell' a young man doffs his cap, leaps off
a voice yells ' turn on the air
conditioning, driver, you must!'
the driver tannoys ' this bus is new so it runs late and has no
heat controls
and I'm the poor guy driving it'. passengers scoff, 'of course
it's new, cost millions,
we are cursed!' grannies nod knowingly,
lobstered schoolboys squirm
a man in a sloganed Tshirt 'Keep Calm and Call Batman' can't get
past,
closes his eyes, mumbles something or
nothing, perhaps a prayer.
a jolt, we're in a jam the driver
tannoys 'please don't make a fuss
there is a body in the road, the tube
is very close'.
the bus now empty, doors open, this
incident a sort of plus
the driver relieved and aired, slumps
on the wheel
a body spread eagled in the road,
paramedics crouch, clamorous,
splintered motorbike, police wait
nervously
blood seeps, a stretcher, red shroud,
bystanders gasp
police move to the head the hands the
feet, their shoulders bowed
in Holborn that sunny afternoon, a
silent crowd, a shivered loss,
on the road a momentary shadow of a
cross.
Liz Callingham