[21 July 1945 - ]
Bloody men are like bloody buses --
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.
You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You're trying to read the destinations,
You haven't much time to decide.
If you make a mistake, there's no turning back.
Jump off, and you'll stand there and gaze
While cars and taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days.
Wendy Cope notes: "When I wrote this, in 1987, I must already have been a bit shortsighted. Nowadays, if I'm wearing glasses, I have no difficulty in reading the destination on the buses."
| An excerpt from A Poem A Day. |