The cold shower cuts out
before the icy needles can fill a bucket.
Dressing with eyes on the clock.
Legs pumping, slipping, sliding.
shines like the Milky Way.
Accelerating as frantically
as a gold medal favourite in fourth.
Lungs desperately dragging oxygen
from diesel stained fog.
At the lights,
the bus is as still
as the corpse in the stormwater drain.
Mercifully the doors fold open.
Aeons into the journey,
the work cancellation message arrives
as silently as a ninja.