National Poetry Writing Month Poem 7. The Ghost Bus

The Ghost Bus

The ghost bus gleamed
grey in the summer haze
Pink cherry blossom
oozed from the pores
of tree branches.
Leaffall came
from Wallington Green
But the ghost bus remained
stony grey
Through the icy tentacles
of winter woodland
to the growing
depths of Spring
Where burrowed
among the squirrels
and the foxes den
a willowy wraithful
figure loomed.
Buried in the
headlines of the
newspapers
Black and white as the
Daily Mail or The Sun
The bus driver drow the slow
way home.
Among the bright
red London buses
Hidden for a moment
then thrust in time,
ten years to the day
the bus driver passed away
And now merely like a flashback
or a timeslip from the past
The ghost bus
took the long road home.