Title: Numba 53
by Selly from London | in writing, poetry
The fresh faced school boy, steps on the 53 bus, jam JAM!
On this on-peak rush.
Can you hear the notes, tango down my ear canal?
As the strummer comes to his piece finale
And the man with his child on the sugar crush,
Probably thinks my feet tap for I'm in a rush
"Can you feel the beat surge?" I ask this madame
She shrugs as the speed bumps end, Damn!
My fingers tap on the window seal, as the Manchester fans stumble out of the field.
Old woman Baker,
I could guess that's her name, tuts and sighs when a child steps to fame.
With his Sony Runman, blasting his tunes,
Showing his screwface, thinkin' he's rude
And the lard assed woman pops another bomb,
With a grimace I see her "thong, thong, thong, thong, thong!"
My eyes retreat to the pane of the window
And first gets on the red-haired bimbo
And next stop comes the rusty old man, so brittle
Can he move his arm let alone any hand?
As he requests for brakes of this colourless bus,
The drivers red and he's making a fuss,
He steps his foot down but never to stop
And the young school boy shouts "hey stop the bus!"
Cause the fear that builds in him and from the knowledge he grows,
That in 53 years time,
It might be him.
Who knows?
Did the Blast poetry thing in Barking.
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