The second of December twenty thirteen

the second of December twenty thirteen

A man picks up a discarded cigarette butte from the gutter

We're waiting for a bus

A women shouts at her child,very loudly

we turn and look away.

A couple browse at paintings,a tramp walks by

a young man dressed in rags.

The queue is growing

and the child is crying

The Mother blames the father

but I think who the hell knows

People looking at their mobile phones

lit up like chirstmas tress

One bus passed straight by,full up

someone lets out a moan and the queue grows

Cigarettes, fried food, perfume

smells that catch your attention and linger in the air

Chinese, Somalian, Spanish words all spoken I hear

and children pass by on scooters

Now the push for the bus

think I'll wait

Plastic bags with shopping

knocking against my shins

Now I'm on the bus

its full and busy

People talking into thier phones

or staring at its shinning screen.

The cities Christmas illuminations

calming relaing blues

As we pull away from the crowd

I look forward to getting home.