The greyhound bought me mile and mile ever closer

Home to you. I pictured you waiting by the cinema,

Just below the broken orange light that swings

Violenty

In even the most gentle of breezes.

I picture you there and hope you have forgiven me.

Nobody pays much attention to me, thank god.

If they did, they would see a regretful tear

Drifting slowly down my scared, haggard face.

I take my handkerchief out of my pocket.

My nose catches your scent and I cry some more.

I try to imagine how you will react

When you lay your never forgotten green eyes on me.

I’ve been gone so long that I would not blame you

If you didn’t turn up at all and left me

Standing in the rain, under that orange light.

The bus teasingly slows down. I wait patiently at the

Back

And I stare out at the cinema, now closed down.

The driver nods at me, as if my cue to leave to leave

The security of his bus and to step out,

To hopefully await your forgiving arms.

Ian D. Hall

First published in Greyhound Tales.