49 to Shepherd's Bush

I frantically wave my hand to flag you down,
do you see me today or will you carry on?
As often happens on a rainy day like today.
I hop on, keen to touch in and greet you but
you concentrate ahead of you.

Before one can say; ‘Let’s grab a seat’
(For the journey is long and perilous)
the big red beast of London is on the loose.
Hold on tight, for dear life perhaps,
as we place ourselves in your hands and mercy,
united in our efforts to remain upright,
and I already feel for my feet.

Back and forth, to and fro
like a roller coaster without the thrills.
Pushing and shoving,
shopping bags and suitcases flying,
all fighting for a seat.
This is survival of the fittest at its finest.

I sit in a puff of dust and gaze at the beautiful city,
trying to see past steamy windows and grime.
We travel North, crossing the river,
slowly getting closer to some destination,
each of our own as busy bees to their Queen.

People running alongside you
knuckles on the door but
their plea is ignored and you
poor sodden soul, you will not make it,
we have reached full capacity.

The eerie voice goes; ‘49, to Shepherd’s Bush’,
I feel like the sheep that is taken to the field,
to pastures new and old, along with my herd.
No use pressing the bell,
you are running late and are a bat out of hell.

The sour stench of sweat mixed with
the sweet scent of perfume is too much to bear,
I suffocate and despite the rain abdicate.
A sharp stop and the doors open.

Once more the eerie voice goes; ‘49, to Shepherd’s Bush’
and I flow out with my fellow survivors.
Good bye driver, till tomorrow,
same time, same place, for the highlight of my day.