Riding on the lower deck
Of a bright red London bus
Departed from Victoria station terminus
And designated number twenty - four
Bound for Trafalgar Square
Via Westminster and along Whitehall
Passed Cenotaph and pavement mounted guards
I look around at fellow passengers
Trying not to stare
Betraying nosy interest
I wonder at the passengers around
A woman with a constant smile
What makes her happy?
Perhaps she has just received
News that her cancer is in remission
Another with an active child
Their ethnicities do not match?
Is she the mother or perhaps a carer?
Employed by a prosperous family
A young man is never off his ‘phone
He shouts abuse for all to hear
What causes such raised tones?
Has he discovered his wife’s affair?
Or is he an aspiring actor just out- auditioned
We have reached my stop
And time to visit the National Gallery
And I will never know the
Circumstances of my short-lived
Encounters with fellow passengers
Riding on the bright red London bus
Nor will I discover what inspired
The artists of paintings I am about to see
I reflect that we are not privy to lives of others
Unless they wish to reveal them
Any why should they?
Except to those they love and trust