Poem: Early Morning Bus to Manchester
Early Morning Bus to Manchester
Written June 12, 2017
It is dark, 5:30 in the morning.
I’m leaving to take the early
bus into Manchester
that I catch at the stop
on Chester Road
just up the cobbled alley
at the end of our street,
and I’ve ran from my door
to that stop before.
My purse over my arm,
listening for the bus.
Sometimes It’s so quiet I can hear it still
on Oxford Road, the street before.
Nothing today though.
I reach down with my key.
Stick it in the lock to turn
when I feel a sharp piercing
sting through my hand, up my arm
and I can’t understand why
the searing pain is there until
I see a wasp crawl out
from under the door handle.
I can see the black and yellow
and it’s clumsy drunken August crawl
even under the dim streetlights
which have yet to switch off for
The whole street is asleep
so I can’t scream in pain
but this is what I want, to scream
or to say ‘Faaaack” very loudly
and to get to the bus stop in the two
minutes I have or I will have to
pay the $20 equivalent
of a return on the train.
I make it there in time as I see
the bus face and bus lights get bigger
and I plunk my 3 pounds for fare
into the box to pay for the 3 hour
meandering commute into Manchester
Hoping to forgive my senses for the
fire in my hand between the Darkness
of the hedgerows, and the
Light of every next village.
By Wendy Stewart