The bus

She stood fairy like against mutant
silver sun flowers
ugly because they were metal
not fragrant with authenticity

I sit trance like against
a pewter Ulsterbus window sill
ugly just because it is..........
a noisy people mover.

To my right hangs the winter sun
poking its frosty warmth
through sausaged clouds reaching east
I think of you with my own warmth.

I radiate an aura of hope
that we can share again
one day........... words.