Is This Life's Last Bus Stop Poem by Mark Heathcote

Peevish peeing on a 101 bus…
Down the stairwell in no rush
Where are you going - now alone?
Southern cemetery to excavate—
The marrow of a pelvic bone

A life out of—some oily shadow
Why do you look so curt?
You're hunched-up shoulders
They're so laden passenger with hurt?
'Have you spent a lifetime?
Digging in the dirt'…

Where sir are you, now, going?
Looking so sorry, here, now to leave us…
Ok, time is a gauntlet of fear
As death comes ever nearer near
O elderly, shabby gentleman
Then, is this your life's last bus lane?
Is this your life's last bus stop?