International Women's Day

On My Way To Work on International Women’s Day, 2001

my true love,
my fino naked amontillado woman
waving goodbye with a promise on her face

At the bus stop seven women
three young
one old
four Oriental
wearing early morning faces

On the bus, a score or more
all different
pale blue anorak, red button earrings
long flowing flowering skirt
green duffel coat with a brown and cream scarf
grey baggy jeans

a Japanese girl,
matte black hair, matte black jacket, matte black jeans and shoes,
china white face

no hats

In rainsplashed grey, the homeless beggar girl
curled coldly in the bank entrance mouths
her need
her face pierced and tattooed
she’ll be easy to spot when the vigilantes ride

On the train it is too early
in the day to see the women
bowed down
dragged down
by bunches of plastic-bagged groceries
but there are plenty of
handbags
purses
backpacks
umbrellas
the occasional briefcase

One woman works through the newspaper crossword
One woman reads a soft cover novel with a lurid colour scheme
One woman intently studies a thick textbook in an unknown subject

Black stockings
grey stockings
flesh-coloured stockings
black shoes (mainly) but also
a white-rimmed runner
a blue suede shoe
and a dark brown number with tall wooden heels

no hats

and at the next bus stop there is Karen,
my special friend
calls me “sweet man”
the special needs transit pass her necklace which she wears as proudly as a duchess wears a diamond
we share my umbrella, discuss her work

I sleep on the bus
surrounded by women I wouldn’t get to sleep with in any other circumstances