Roadside Mirror

The bus was late, the usual grind,

a dented hubcap, left behind,

lay by the curb, a metal eye,

reflecting clouds, a bruised-up sky.

Its chrome, all scratched, a broken sheen,

held a smeared portrait of the scene:

A hurried car, a faded sign,

my own tired face, a wavering line.

A world distorted, bent and pressed,

a fractured image, dispossessed.

It caught the light, a harsh, bright flash,

just worthless metal, urban trash.

But in its curve, a bitter truth,

this fleeting, tarnished, hard-won youth.