X5

The bus slows at the dancing
blue and ignis fatuus
of yellow vest and chequered
bodywork. There’s one car
in the ditch and one with an L
slewed across the featureless
straight run from Cambridge.

Our driver rolls down
the glass – five or six hours,
it’s as bad as it gets – and lets
the swish and flip and grim
theatricality as emergency
vehicles keep arriving
(cutting tools, the doors

of an ambulance swung back)
enter the overheated bus
alongside cold rumour.