Nytheone Matt

There’s a river of Finglands, Stagecoach, First
There’s gaps in the tide preceding the bursts
Banners of promotion sliding snakes
A million and one obliging “cheers mate”s
Clouds of vape from the top back seats
Of strawberry cheesecake, bottom shelf sweets
Students, prudence, reluctant commutes
Buzzing devices headphoned or mute
A feminine rhyme but not every time
A token tinniness blips and chimes
A segregation of ages on decks
High rise, neon signs shine and reflect
Shaken about on a bed of potholes
Dunlop, Goodyear dancing on hot coals
Urgency glows but the driver’s been told
Stop after Rusholme for a 5 minute hold
Busiest route in a realm no more
An additional five schnell close the doors
Hushed under breath comes fusses and cuss
Don’t believe every dream seen written on a bus