Op dag vijf van mijn gedichtenweek:

Bloody Men

Bloody men are like bloody buses
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear

You look at them flashing their indicators
Offering you a ride
You’re trying to read the destinations
You haven’t much time to decide

If you make a mistake, there is no turning back
Jump off, and you’ll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days

Wendy Cope (1945)