When I studied in Istanbul, Turkey with my wife and daughter we would take the bus from our apartment into the centre of town where our classes were. Some of the nicest and rudest people were found on these buses. It was a memorable part of living in this bustling city of 12.5 million. Coming from England where there is such a thing as queues and waiting one's turn was more than a shock to proper manners and the way one should act in public! Everybody was out for themselves. The three of us would try our best to stick together and sharpen our elbows. The only way to survive such an experience is to become one of the locals and do as they did. Otherwise, I might still find myself waiting for that next bus ride.

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People pushing,
pulling,
pressing,
in a rush,
someplace to go.
Children laughing.
Adults swearing.
Dogs walk by
without a home.

Twists of colour,
meshed forever,
in a hurry;
in a race.
Smells of garlic,
crushed together,
permeate
this shallow space.
Stopping.
Going.
Never knowing,
who will come or
who will go.
People looking,
never asking.
Women chatting
on the phone.

Horns will squeal.
Brakes will screech.
In a crowd, I feel alone.
Buses choking.
Chimneys smoking.
Such a tiredness,
never known.

Old men nodding.
Perverts prodding.
Have you ever
felt disgust?
Traffic creeping.
Old men sleeping.
Can you help
me off this bus?