At nine p.m.
The worst of the worst
Hover on benches
Or lean on columns –
They’re not here
To catch a ride
I get a drink
From a vending machine
I wait for the bus
That will take me home –
Wannabe thugs
Homeless vagrants
My anxiety levels rise
My pupils widen
My face feels cold
I don’t know when
I started tapping my heel
Why does this guy
Walk behind me –
Security walks by
Tells a guy smoking a cigarette
To move to the smoking area
The guy keeps smoking
But watches the security guard
Like he wants to fight
He passes the smoke to
Another guy and walks off –
The bus comes
I board quickly
From the moving bus
I see the guy talking
To a young woman
His friend talks to
Another woman
I don’t like it
But I don’t stop the bus
I hope those women
Get home safe
From the poetry collection Cats, Coffee, Catharsis.
James Pack 