EYES FRONT

A moderately stinking trainer
Has just bounced off my head
Sent from the dark and
Wildly exciting caverns of
The Back Seat of The School Bus.

But I didn’t notice
No, no. It may have
Ricocheted with such force
That muddy shrapnel from the sole
Was seen across the aisle
The thud enough to make the driver
Check for once animate things
He may have unwittingly
Dragged under the coach’s wheels
But I didn’t notice. I shall remain frozen
Because they’ll leave me alone
One retort and they’ll be off:
Ooh! Leave me alone! They’ll echo
Like a filthy pack of hyenas they think
They’re hilarious. So keep schtum

This is farcical, I realise. To suggest
A not insubstantial training shoe
Thrown from at least ten feet would
Not be felt, but I valiantly play my part
I look out the window, as if to notice
The changing seasons, the glorious yellow
Of the oilseed rape fields coming to fruition
The picturesque sights of Ross-on-Wye Bypass.

There is a small boy lodged in the luggage rack
Above me. They hoisted him up there
Because he’s too small to get down.
They are firing paper pellets off the driver’s
Bald patch now. The driver’s moll, an
Extremely unusual-looking young woman
Rams in her battered tape of Best of UB40
Again. I know the parts that slur by heart.
I still can’t listen to Red, Red, Wine
Without hyperventilating.

I am still rigid, although I have long since ceased
To be the centre of attention. One stop before mine
A lad emerges from the mid-bus-nether-regions.
He drips a sticky mix of egg, water and flour
At every step.It emerges this assault
Is for his birthday.

I didn’t question having to suffer
Habitual terror. And I admired-
In some heavily-qualified way
I have yet to define-
These kids for their spunk and
Comradery. They knew who
They were. It took me a lot longer
To gain their nerve.