Bus Queue Poem by P. J. Radford

Grey slate rises on rooftops
like rills through the mist
where seagulls sweep and
sparrows huddle under eaves.
The steamer blares its horn
to clear the waves, coming to the pier
across the town, and down
in the street two ladies meet.
One, packaged in her plastic mac,
is pleased to meet her pal,
whose shopping trolley and pleated brolly
are opened for appraisal.
Two old friends - who as girls
watched the boat unload
on summer days and fetched
the milk in pails from the farm
that now grows housesin its fields -
chat awhile on the wet tarmac.
The hill holds them above the cloud
and above the sky is blue
where the Sun is filling its function.
Emerging from another junction,
a third woman hails the pair
who pass the time of day
with buxom voice
and shrew-like shriek,
'Hallooing! ' across the way.
This was once the baker's girl
who stole them sticky buns
from her father's ovens
in this same town when it was small
and they were, too, and young.
Their conversation ranges
from the parish changes
to their grandchildrens' toys for Christmas.
The double-decker omnibus
glides in adjacent to the stand,
waiting while the ladies make a fuss
to see who board it first.