“43 to, Friern Barnet”

The travel time
The bus line
The sound of snacking and
The woman who tells  
                                    
Us what we are
On and where we are
Going, repeating

For new arrivals   
Or the senile
Or robots forgetting they 
Got the Forty Three.

Wake up from the daily grind

Wheels on the bus
Go round and round, round and round.
Carry us.

Cleaners, brokers,
One ear off or, surround sound,
All yous, hark

The timetable
Perpetual, it turns found
Into lost.