The bus stop
Is a quiet place
Along the road of Broom
A grassy place
A solemn bank of trees
The road appears and disappears
Occasional cars come by
Otherwise the silence and the breeze
So quietly still
I think of Cary Grant
Standing at the crossroads
In that film
A plane appears
A crop sprayer
Spraying up and down
Suddenly
It comes in for the kill
No crops here
For me to run and hide
Garden fences
But too tall to climb
How would I escape it?
How to stay alive
O thank God
The bus arrives on time
Brian Fahy
23 June 2021
Erris Poetry 