There’s me, getting on a bus, with a chair
trying to find an extra pound,
descending the staircase between the basin, bidet
and lavatory, refinding the stacked trolley
in the aisle, showing my mother,
declining the kingsize pea-tin;
outside, the baby lies in its pram
and I try to cover its strong, upright
arms, aware how I look from a distance
before the crib; we speak as adults.

The bus turns down a neighbouring street
where another passenger waits.
I walk over a triangle of grass to board.