Choice

Early, I shuffle into the soul-
less
bus-stop gathering, and am
held upright and inanimate by buggies, walking sticks and re-usable bags made fat with
High Street consumables,
as I make my choice –

Number 48 or Number 548?
Twenty minutes or forty?
Costa coffee won’t wait for a 48.

Hudson’s rosé can make it
down.
Gulped.
Disinfected.
Fizzled.
Giddy, I return –
seek 48.

On the dot, still popping, I pause …
swaying kerb,
thumb out,
tingling …
48?


Copyright owned by Jay Cool

 

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