Buses

You had to say it
The clich?
That women are like buses
I know they always come in threes and
Yes, there'll be one along soon.

But I've waited
Waited in the bone scraping cold
At wrong stops for wrong numbers
For buses that don't stop
That are too crowded,
Not in service or delayed

And while you seemingly
Spend your life
In the cosy confines of taxis
I resort
To walking