On a  Bus.

The bus stopped short, and getting on,

A woman with an armful of books

Young, laden, like a figure from the past.

She stumbled,

Recovered, the stack unspilled, At last

Looking through the swaying rows,

Past an incertitude of stares,

She settled on a chair,

Smoothed slight curls,

Prim skirt pleated beneath the pile,

And all the while, I thought,

She could have stepped out of time,

And momentarily, brought

What is outmoded back to life,

Sought, amongst

Those dry nuanced pages

Something more difficult

Something that ages better

Than selfies, likes or sport.

Outside, shopfronts slide past,

Workers hurry home,

The light is failing,

In the suburbs-

And a great uneven settling,

From kerb to kerb,

Is broadcast.