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.