Route 62, the pink and purple bus
fading like a disappearing sunset,
which always passes
beneath a lamp which flickers –
the orange eye wearing a halo
of feathers, the seagulls too far
from the sea.
Homeward bound – bus ticket in hand,
paper turned redundant,
used and crumpled, left in a pocket
to fall into dust, into yesterday
as the sky blushes then bruises;
a ragdoll’s cheeks battered by time
and small hands, hands
which now paint the clouds
in the end of the day darkness.
Route 62 – my only way back
to the place I call home,
my return and my solace
found in the humming
of wheels upon tarmac;
the only time I see myself
as natural light fades
and pulls my face into the window.
Homeward bound – heart firmly held
between my two tired hands.
Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020
Photograph taken by me.