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   Poetry: Buses

London, my city, I watch you shiver.

Rays from today's bright sun highlight our hot breath as, heads down,

we shuffle towards the open door and warmth of the right bus.

 

Alexandria, my city, I watch you bask.

Rays from today's bright sun gently warm our faces as, fingers waving madly,

we flag down and slide open the door of the right bus.

 

Piccadilly, the Corniche, Pall Mall,

Sidi Gabir, Oxford Street and Port Said Street,

all filled with buses, our hot breath and warm faces;

all filled with us, just for a while, united.