City Morning

Morning rush hour

i sit fidgeting 

in the upper deck seat

the bus idling

while the traffic lights play 

their little game of chess

red green 

amber red.

And we thought,

we had that thing called free will?

The eyes roam

spot a seagull above

circling in the grey sky

and suddenly

the sun alights on its wings

sharp, golden, piercing light

and all that is opposite 

of heavy and dark.

Isn’t this is what the mornings are made of in a city

traffic lights

time, and

hope?