Eddie One Wednesday Morning 1948

Eddie waited 

at the bus stop 

amongst others waiting. 

The sky was dull grey, 

cloudless and looked like rain. 

He inhaled on the cigarette,

ignoring those around him. 

Work would take him 

in a different sphere, 

one about which he could say 

nothing to anyone 

outside the department. 

It put a strain 

on his marriage, 

especially if he was late 

and couldn’t honestly say why.  

The bus stopped 

and passengers got off, 

and he got on 

after the others. 

He sat in a seat 

next to an old woman 

who had seen better days 

and smelt like it too. 

He looked past her, 

out of the window 

as the bus moved on. 

The female clippie 

asked his destination; 

he said 

and paid her the coins 

and she gave him a ticket, 

and she moved up the aisle. 

He inhaled 

on his cigarette, 

it helped cover 

the old girl’s scent. 

Elsie and he had rowed 

over breakfast; 

he tried to explain 

about black dog, 

but she was 

not in the listening mood. 

More passengers got on 

and some had to stand 

in the aisle. 

He stood 

and offered his seat

 to an elderly woman 

and she smiled 

and thanked him. 

His good deed 

for the day, 

he mused. 

He stood and swayed 

with the motion of the bus, 

exhaling out smoke, 

gazing at the passing scene. 

The baby had cried in the night 

and that had made 

his mood worse, 

only afterwards did Elsie 

get up and quieten the baby 

and for him 

to go back to sleep, 

which he did to a degree. 

The bus went over the bridge 

over the Thames. 

Nearly there, 

he mused, 

work awaits, 

a different world, 

his secret work, 

which none other 

could know. 

He got off at his stop 

and walked on amongst 

those death had undone, 

the grey, the muddled-minded 

with their odd ideas of fun.