The Wrong Bus

On the wrong bus
I could cuss
But then I wouldn't have seen the murder of crows
Death row for the seeds
And the incompetent flappings of the scarecrow
Indeed

Wouldn't have passed Amos Lane
and Long Knowle Lane
on a bus going towards
and back again.

Peeping into double glazed bays
I see immediately in my gaze:
Dining tables
with no dining
China
with no chining
Divans
with no divining

Mock Tudor
Leaded glasses
It all passes
On the way towards

3 cars per household on Old Fallings Lane
This bus-stop planet cannot be the same
Surely
Maybe they don't care
Burning their fuel
Polluting the air
On the way to who knows where