An Autumn School Run

The drizzle wraps and holds us in a damp bubble as the white sky stares down. The yellow leaves have let go, they are sodden and glowing.

On the rain soaked bus steaming
you draw faces and stick men on the windows.
We talk of how new year is big in London,
and how I saw celebrations there in the year 2000.
We talk of how you won’t be able to see them in the year 3000
because you won’t be here anymore.

Outside the autumn leaves fall and let go.