The buses are empty

The buses are empty.
But they keep going.
Morning, noon and night
they drive by my living room window
with the eeriness of a hearse
heading back to its garage.
It’s like the ghosts have opted
for a cheaper commute home.
It’s strange not seeing a bus stop.
They’re like hungry sharks never sleeping.
Always moving.
The buses are empty.
But they just keep going.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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