Written on a bus again.
The bus stands stock still.
The smell of petrol permeates,
A musty smell.
And in the shallow rain,
Shining rivulets race each other across the
Fog obscured, cross-hatched windows.
Nobody moves or talks,
Lost in each other’s words.
The repetitive rumbling of the engine
Fills our ears and we are
The dull lights flash as if
But we still stand stock still.
Wasn’t quite sure about using the word ‘shallow’ to describe rain, but I think it creates the right mental image, do you?