Day One Hundred and Fifty: Our Melodic Parish

These four wheels rise and fall with the day
Navigating through the same places, daily,
With the same faces, mainly.
People hustle on and off in droves
to attend corporate sermons in similar places
automatically filling the pews.

A revelation that depicts those who take this bus every morning.

In order to get into the spirit of the day, I lean back into my seat,
Using earbuds to block out the silent prayers.
For over an hour I stare out of the window
Transfixed by the holy sounds in my ears,
quietly singing along with the hymns in my ears,
praise to a God of which I’m always fond of meeting.

We arrive.

The congregation dismount to face the day,
making their way to offices close by,
en route to channel their energies into something
greater than them, collaborating on small financial miracles.

I join them for a spell,
but my true church
can only be attended after work,
in the bars and dingy dive venues
in front of stages and railings
watching in anticipation
disciples throwing out sermons
for crowds of baying parishioners
worshiping through catharsis,
sweating pouring over one another.
The only soul we have is collective
for an hour at best
as we give thanks to a God
that has saved us from being like
the rest.

Micro fiction: One of Them!

The bus is boarded at the usual stop, at the usual time on a standard grey weekday morning. It is lined from side to side with suits, blouses and skirts. MP3 players in most ears, phones in the hands of some, and the Metro in the hands of others. It’s like any other bus journey at rush hour.

By the time the bus hits the motorway, there is no longer standing room only. Packed in, single file, like custard crèmes in their packets. No one’s talking, eye contact is somehow forbidden and I feel ill, ill at all the suits going towards their 9-5 routines, ill at the concept, some with ambition, but all the wrong places.

I pull out the phone, I surf the web, check the news and then pull out my MP3 player. I pump the volume up to 20 and try and choose the appropriate selection for my journey. I never do, and it reminds me that I need new music. I always forget to update it. I look to the person beside me, another suit, another MP3 player, another Metro…

I straighten my tie, and try to prepare for the day ahead. Another slog through the monotony of the working life. I feel I’m the only one that’s gotten the joke, the only one that’s realised just how much a life a 9-5 existence isn’t. The bus is warm, I loosen my tie then it dawns on me: I’m part of the same joke. I’ve become one them .