Morning Bus

Six-fifteen, the morning bus
A covered caravan for the unshaved and unsaved
For the mendicants contemplating infinity in grimy hi-vis
For the football philosophers who analyse every missed kick of last night’s game
For the hopeful neophytes studying the scripture of TikTok
For the three-job holy sister with offerings of Wether’s Original in her handbag

It's journey we join only in darkness
And never for longer than we need
To pilgrimage to our sacred temples
Where we worship the god of £12.71 an hour
Where we justify our right to exist

And I step into the congregation
Make the sign of the debit card
Tap the holy icon, hear the amen beep
Try not to meet the eyes of my fellow penitent sinners
Take a place on a pew behind the reverend driver

And try to convince myself that I’m not a member of the flock.

February 2026


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