The double decker trundles the damp streets.
People are standing and others fill the seats.
A loud squeal of brakes as it heaves to a stop.
Passengers get on and off in an orderly swap.

A man asks, ‘Are we on a Dennis or a Routemaster?’
I nearly say ‘Who cares? Which one is the faster?
Always pleasant, steady and patient at the helm,
Our experienced driver treats this as his realm.

People hop on and they show their passes.
The driver questions of a couple of lasses.
‘This is a child’s pass, how old are you?’
Some others hunch up closer in the queue.

Coming down those stairs is a serious trial.
Almost as tough as passing those in the aisle.
The bus stops and doors open with a loud hiss.
A dropped glove, I look around, ‘Excuse me Miss.’

No, not hers. I’ll give it to the driver when I get off.
Near the back someone has got a rasping cough.
This is my stop and I head for the door.
I tell him I’ve found a glove on the floor.

‘Put it there’, and he points to a shelf by the screen.
Lost and abandoned gloves, what a truly sad scene.
As I alight a hurried passenger says, ‘Excuse me love’,
‘Sorry’ I say, ‘I’m looking for a lady with just one glove’.