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Nightbus, by Britta Benson

I spent last night on the bus from Glasgow to London, a good eight hours, stuck in the blue tinted light of the bus, staring out into the darkness with virtually no clue where I was. All the places look the same, never more than white letters on blue rectangles at the side of the motorway. Here’s my nightbus inspired poem.


The blue light

above our heads

sets the mood

with precision.

The outside can’t hold on,

becomes a limp spectator,

forced to smile and wave

as I hear whispers all around me,

three quarter sentences

coming from two rows behind,

half truths darting sideways,

a fraction of a moan

hovering like a dragonfly,

confused, yet iridescent.

Even the moon has given up on us.

We travel through blue tinted air

each one of us a world

in search for a sun.


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