X90
Coming back after a day full of meetings,
I take the bus out of London.
Soon we'll be in the countryside,
where glassbox offices would appear Martian.
It's dark now and a dim light is on
for the passenger sitting before me.
It's not Daily Mail that he reads,
a topic far too numbing for his ride.
London
The red buses and grayed pavements,
Rain, lipsticks, heel and umbrellas.
the constant flurry of pedestrians,
waiting for one another to arrive,
are the paradox in defending quietness.
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