Waiting for a Bus in the Rain

Wearing sunglasses despite the gloom,
the patter of the rain, a not unpleasant chill.
The people passing with umbrellas,
the head-lamped TESCO trucks
projecting mirages that shiver in drops.
The industrial yard just ahead, which though
no doubt scentless creates that cold
machismo smell of gasoline I like
despite its ugliness, like mum’s cigarettes
and mangy dogs. Someone’s torn the sticker
that demands “free Palestine” and death
to capital. The two decrying dairy farms
and animals in science labs have fared better.
Impressions align. I hope the bus gets here.