It was magical

It was magical

Sitting on the top deck

At the front of the bus

Above the driver

Looking out over the world

As it came toward you

It was a starship

Exploring new worlds

Rocking from side

To side

Holding on like Kirk

And Spock

Dreaming of Uhuru

Phasers at the ready

Photon torpedoes

Fired at will

Wishing we could

Dematerialise

On rainy days

We were submariners

Travelling

From the stars

To the bottom of the sea

Twenty thousand leagues

Traversed

In one short journey

Between the waterworks

And the colliery

Where the open water

Baths

Awaited pale pink bodies

With tidemarks

Demarcating head

From neck

The top deck

Had a smell that lingered

The air full of smoke

Congested chests

And teenage hormones

A night bus Odyssey

A school run

A Sunday trip

To the seaside

For beach cricket

Sand and sun

A bus conductor

On every one

Making sure you had a ticket

Walking home

Was not much fun

At half-past one

In the morning

After a night on the town

Left you broke

Eight miles is no joke

Whether drunk

Or sober

I wouldn’t do it now

That I am older

But miss the front bench seat

The world in widescreen

Before it became a thing

On the top deck

With your girlfriend

At midnight

Jumping off before a knife fight

Move along the bus now

Happy days

Are made of these

Or so they like to tell me.