It was the fingers
snuffling through her hair
like fat noses
that silenced us.
Sprawled across
the first two seats
of a double-decker bus,
they whispered
something syrupy
in cigarette stung voices.
I tried to pluck their words like feathers;
you folded yourself
into the dusty space
between the cushion
and the window
and we fastened our hands together like seat belts.
©
Jenny Adamthwaite