working nights again
gotta work, gotta eat
but working nights means taking The Bus
there’s nothing like riding The Bus at night
to make you appreciate cars
there are cars on the road passing us
more lights on the road than beside us
all those houses, windows dark
shadows, hiding sins and follies
The Bus smells of stale booze and body odour
not surprising then, the loud drunken voices in back
they’re always either drunk or young, those voices
the other Bus ahead of us, so new and shiny
its brilliant turn signal flashing red and orange
so bright it burns my retinas, but I have to look
it’s beautiful. I close my eyes and watch
through my eyelids, so bright
the colours go well with the city at night
orangeness everywhere lights the streets
orange is the colour of a city at night
but it’s not a warm orange
that doesn’t make me like it any less
raging at my temples is the smallest of pains
a nascent headache that needs fresh air
I need to get off The Bus
maybe the walk from the stop to home will help
if not, at least there’s the moon
not quite full yet, but a respite from the orange
the orange that's the city at night