They don't ply here anymore.
This is an old estate.
Look at algae-ridden bricks --
best to be forgotten, they said.Someone pulled out
demographic charts
as they struck out the routes.Out, out--
There are no buses here,
only feasting spirits
on these unswept avenues.The old women in purple
samfoos look like
ghastly orchids--They queue at a deserted interchange.
Published in Curious Roads (1994)
