crossing Holderness by bus

30 degrees and rising

a long wait ahead

for a replacement bus -

ours overheated

the sun is high and hot,

energy sapping hot

there’s a space on a bench

but it’s in full sun

a tree offers shade

I stand reading

‘songs for dead children’

at my feet cigarette ends

an ant scuttles underfoot

and stays in the cool of my sandal

my bus arrives trailing toxic clouds

I sit at the front – shady side

glancing from

the fields of Holderness to

Belfast poetry

Belfast poetry to

the fields of Holderness

and thanking god for the bus pass

a whirligig of young girls’

squirling swirling pig-tail

giggling erupts

I rip a tissue

to plug my ears

against the unbearable pathos –

behind their tinsel worldliness

they are innocents

a certain sundering will come

even now it taps -

a lust-branch tap-tapping

on the window pane

of expectation and imagination

the progression is certain;

kissing...cuddling...

innocent fumbling...

coupling... sleeping...

waking to childbirth -

the tearing pain

by which the world renews

old songs replayed

old tales retold

they tumble the stairs

giggling

spilling onto the roadside

the bus takes a left

they disappear

I wish them warmth.