Poetry Centre

Last bus

  • The last bus jumps off like a planet
    packed with under-assorted people
    who take advantage of it anyhow.
    Most of us are the better for wear;
    a few are transcendental; and one or two
    chancers are busy changing their lives.
    If you are not talking you can watch
    the bodies anticipate shedding clothes,
    evacuating wastes, and lastly
    lying down somewhere in the dark.
    There are no good places to die but
    this is surely one of them.

    by Rip Bulkeley