I am alone at the bus station

It seems that nobody want to travel

There are three unmanned buses

Not in Service

Not in Service

Not in Service

Their drivers are nowhere to be seen

(It is a demanding job and they need their breaks)

The elderly couple have returned to an unknown house

Still blaming the Jews for everything I suppose

I cannot say that I agree with that

As this has been a more collective decline

There is a splendid information centre to my right

It looks a little out of place if I am totally truthful

A lorry late of Plymouth passes it by

Elegant in its royal blue clothes

(I have an attraction to brightly painted lorries)

My bus arrives and previously unseen passengers

Begin to board with more than a little haste

I deliberately stand back as I always do

This is a peculiar habit of mine as yet unexplained