by Nick Gisburne
Her middle finger mocks his bleeding face
She buys a one-way ticket, anywhere
A passage to an unfamiliar place
No path, no plan, no appetite to care
With every dogged bootstep she is sure
The road will end and someday she will find
A moment of serenity, a cure
For all the shit and shame she leaves behind
The station drips with filthy autumn rain
Old buses stink of misery and piss
Her seat is ripped, and sticky with a stain
Another dismal day has led to this
But while the wheels are turning she can rest
Relief, the one emotion she knows best
