Jack Turner


The Night Bus

At 5 a.m., half drunk, still sober, stumbling
to a bus the yellow walls and yellow rails and yellow dirt and yellow faces of the yellow livered people
the night fades slowly to the dawn beating to the soundtrack of mumbles, groans and Andy Williams
Her face is blank, a vacant, pale canvas
mind is painted, colours, distant
the Night’s horrors play upon a stage, a lone reviewer of the melee
the painted nails, flaming shots, tequila sunrise and the kisses
the crystal balls, stubbled jaws,

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