At a bus stop on Princes Road
two people, unaware
that there is a bus strike,
form an orderly queue.
September 1977
and a lovely evening for a walk.
The people in the queue grow restless.
Begin to talk.
Time passes, but not buses.
Eventually the queue, dying of thirst,
sets off down the road
leaving the bus stop to its own devices.
In the corner of a pub
three empty bus shelters away
the queue is sitting at a table
drinking and chatting.
At closing time
(early in those far-off days)
the queue has decided
to form an orderly life together.
Promises are made
as hand in hand
it walks out into the night.
Cue music and fade.