Poem: Bus trips into Dudley

It’s always windy in Dudley and the bus takes forever.
It goes everywhere.
“It’ll dry yer washing” whenever we complain.
My Nan always said the same.

“Why do we have to come here Mom?” Not Mum.
“It’s good for ya, and I’ve got to go to Wilkos, stop moaning, come on.”
She walks a bit faster, just wants the shopping done.
“…can we go home yet? There’s nothing here.”
I smell doughnuts from the market near.
I start thinking about sweets and the sweet shop and Grandad.

“Stop going on! There’s nothing wrong with Dudley – Lenny Henry’s from here – he’s funny.”
but I like Dawn French better – she’s the funny vicar and I bet she’s got some money…
“…and there’s a castle…the zoo.”
“Can we go there then Mom with you?”
“No. it’s too cold, come on, it’s nearly 2.”

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