There’s the smell of diesel

From cars zipping past and

Shower us with plumes

Of badly controlled exhaust

Fumes.

 

There are people sitting

On a wooden bench

One eating a health bar nearby

Another munching a sausage roll

Food smells mixing with the

Polluted air.

 

The bus announces its arrival

With a distinct engine sound

And the way it reduces speed

To stop in front of the passengers.

Nervous traffic passes it.

 

Smells of gasoline and sweat

Oozes from the pale red coloured

Vinyl of the upholstered plastic

Seats.

The artist takes all in and hobs

From the end station to the

Offices of social care

Sparsely furnished.

 

The woman who helps acts

Suspicious of one’s intentions.

Finally after throwing words

Back and forth

Both parties listen and agree

Another document is needed

For completion of the submission

For a monthly support of energy

Use

As reported by a local county

Paper.

 

The artist at war with provincial minds

That rule over the fund’s distribution.

Headaches.

Relax in the close-by amenable

Coffee house.

There’ll be a long way to success

With officialdom

But also a nervy wait for a bus

Taking one home.

 

The artist closes his eyes

Imagines a beach with soft sand

And warm pebbles

A Med’s turquoise sea

Lapping gently at his feet.

Sea.aeS

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.