You don’t have to be kind

You don’t have to be kind

To strangers

Or old people

But it helps

To oil the wheels.

It hurts nobody

To be pleasant

But it is difficult

When you are in a hurry

And some old guy

Fumbles with his money

At the checkout

Or can’t find his bus pass

When there is a queue

And you’re already late

For a meeting.

It is easy

To forget it was your fault

That you slept in

Left the car lights on all night

So it wouldn’t start

When you turned the key.

A folio of work sliding onto the floor

And under the seat

Who uses hard copy

These days?

The fall back

Of public transport

Rubbing shoulders with the plebs

Wombles,

And daydreamers,

Drowning in a sea of dandruff

Unwashed clothes

And horror stories.

When was the last time

I was on a bus

By choice?

It’s hard to remember

But surely it deserves a poem

I think if there was a god

He would think there were too many

Would be poets

In the world

But not enough good poems.

He has a point

The ultimate in know-it-alls.

There are times when

The details are less important

Than the idea

The panorama more interesting

Than the focal point.

Given time,

I could write a piece about

Helicopter parenting

Or misogynist teens

But I would probably just

Lose it in amongst

The accumulated bric-a-brac

Down on the floor

Under the car seats

Or beneath the sofa.