I've been waiting for the right time to post his poem. The right time occurred last week, waiting in the snow for a bus. I saw three in a row arrive at the same time. Whenever that happens I think of this poem and it takes my mind off the wait. I first discovered this poem whilst I was waiting metaphorically for the right bus to arrive. Thankfully he arrived and the destination was clear.
Bloody men are like bloody buses-
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.
You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You're trying to read the destinations,
You haven't much time to decide.
If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.
Jump off, and you'll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours the days.